


The Coalition

by UchidaKarasu



Series: The Coalition [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Character Development, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Illnesses, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Instability, Other, Psychological Trauma, Triggers, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UchidaKarasu/pseuds/UchidaKarasu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of a tragic outbreak, causing the dead to come back to life, Kurt Hummel must learn to survive in a world consisting of violence and horror. Rated for zombies (obviously), gore, sex, violence, character death, potential triggers, and all kinds of psychological mindfucks. Kurt/Sebastian, mentions of past Kurt/Blaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Changed

**Author's Note:**

> I was watching 'The Walking Dead” after a huge marathon of zombie movies (including the Resident Evil series, the remake of “Dawn of the Dead”, and “Zombieland”, and I got to thinking about all the inconsistencies of zombies and the sort. And then I started thinking about all the awesome things about them. And then I started wondering about the virus itself and whether there were...exceptions. And then I started thinking about the logic behind zombies. And then I thought about how Artie would react. And then I thought about what necrophiliacs would think about zombies. Thus, this fic was born. Huzzah! ...but happy endings? Don't hold your breath. <3

Prologue  
_The Changed_

_14 January +22_

Ashland didn't understand it, even twenty-two years after the beginning.

When the world had been normal, with fast food and cell phones and football and cars, the world had been perfectly aware and obliging of the fact that one day, they would all be half technology and half cyborgs. It had been the technological age in 2011 (or what the Coalition called +00 A.E.), and it was common knowledge that it was only the beginning. One day, they'd be able to live forever and fly their cars, while talking on cell phones embedded in their ears and teeth, their bodies more machine with upgrades than human with flesh. Hell, even in +00, they had been waiting impatiently for the next computer, for nanotechnology to branch out of the government into everyday civilian life, for microchips to be planted in people like they were the dogs of the new age.

Instead, they moved as a group through the entirety of the desolate exoskeleton of a small town in Oklahoma, armed heavily with weapons they had made themselves as they crept forward, listening and looking out for the Infected.

Electricity didn't even work any more. There were no hair dryers, no movies, no iPods with R&B jams. The petrol had run out fifteen years ago back when the Scrags had been more numerous and had used vehicles. The ammunition was close to gone – they'd find a few loads occasionally but it was rare now that the Scrags and the Coalition had cleaned out the US and Canada. They had to make their own now, just to survive. However, they used quieter weapons as a general rule, because of the fact that the Infected were attracted to the noise. Using a gun was a last option, from the lack of ammunition _and_ from the simple fact that they wanted to stay alive. Crossbows, long-reach blunt objects, and long swords worked rather well, although the last one wasn't as popular.

Mexico, or what the Coalition called the Wastelands, was a no-go. There might've had less of the Infected, but it definitely wasn't worth it in the end. The gangs and the independent groups holding together the shaky peace didn't take to outsiders. They killed anyone, friend or foe, out of survival. The Coalition, and in effect Ashland himself, recognised the need for that. They were more civilised, sure, but they'd shoot before asking questions if the situation called for it. Ashland couldn't count how many times he had just used his weapon because the Scrags hadn't called out to acknowledge that they weren't Infected. It wasn't his fault that they were foolish to just run up without alerting, because everyone was armed.

Ashland used to choke on his own vomit when he realised that he had shot his own kind. There weren't a lot of them left, the alive ones, and it was such a loss when it happened. Especially children. Nowadays, though, he didn't even blink at the backfire of a weapon, let alone at the death of a Scrag. They should've used common sense when coming to an armed battalion by calling out that they were alive. It was terrible, but it was a part of the new world.

He wished that he had been able to live out his dreams. Now, it just didn't matter. Ashland's job was simple, and of vital importance in the new world. He had to defend his platoon at all costs, find survivors and supplies, and he had to stay alive. It was of utmost importance and he didn't have a choice.

One day, hopefully, they'd be able to take back their country, start anew. Restart the world, with an active civilisation and maybe even a country-wide government instead of what the Coalition had working now. He'd help create peace; not the kind of peace that the Wasteland people had created, but a democratic peace, where children could be children and people could live with minimal fear. It would take decades, if not longer, to be free of the Infected, as they waited to kill the rest of the Infected or all of the remaining humans themselves finally died, but one day, there would be peace. Stability. Life would return to some warped sense of normality.

They just had to survive until then.


	2. One: Second Option

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a few inquiries about 'Ashland'. You'll figure it out. ^_^ Also, unbeta'd chapter. Feel free to flame about how slow it's going. Me thinks I'm a descriptive writer involved in character study, so no like? Kiss my arse, kthx.

Chapter One  
_Second Option_

_08 April +00_

In Kurt's second period class, they all spoke in either whispers or whimpers.

For the most part though, it was completely silent. Kurt was one of the silent ones, his glasz eyes wide as he watched the news. They had abandoned all thought of school-work within the first period, when Jacob ben Israel had all but charged into the room, yelping something about zombies taking over Europe. It had taken a few moments for Jacob's shaking fingers to find the right channel on the television, but when he found the first news station, the spit-balls and paperwads flying at his Jew-fro stopped in the face of complete and utter shock.

The news was talking about how it had started in Switzerland – apparently there had been reports of mass hysteria resulting from cannibalism in the greater part of Geneva. CNN had footage from on-scene reporters in the area, where they had watched humans covered in blood and ripped flesh begin running towards screaming civilians and gun-toting military units. The reporters were yelling the commentary in frightened, high-pitched voices, most of the words a jumble of languages none of them could speak. There were no subtitles, because that would come with time, and this was breaking all across Europe.

The pretty blonde and the older man reporting the news for CNN, a southern woman named Michelle Ryder and her Boston-born co-anchor Alexander Carmichael, were calmly and charismatically assuring people that there was nothing to worry about.

“ _The United States Government has taken the necessary precautions to make sure that the infection developed by Swiss scientists will_ not _reach into our country. President Barrack Obama has grounded all air travel from overseas, and all ships coming from Europe or Asia are being turned away from port. For all of the aeroplanes that were already in the air before the infection hit, they will be immediately detained by the military on secure bases, to make sure the virus has not infected all on board. There are no cases of infection within the North or South American continents, as we are assured that all South American countries are taking necessary precautions against the threat overseas,_ ” said Ryder, smiling confidently into the camera and nodding once to reinforce that image.

“Isn't that how this zombie crap always starts, with the news being forced to lie about the situation?” whispered one of the football players, a linebacker named Mark, fiddling with the hem of his letterman jacket as he stared endlessly at the telly.

“No way, man,” Artie said from beside Kurt. “Zombie apocalypses always start in America, and the government is always trying to cover their arses until there's no government left. This time, it's totally Switzerland's fault, and thankfully we're hearing about it before the virus gets over here. We actually have an advantage, which is, like, totally unheard of in zombie apocalypses. Y'know, because they're all set in America and all.”

Carmichael continued, “ _The President has assured that relief will be given to anyone in Europe or Asia that needs it. Military units from all branches of the armed forces have been deployed to help our allied nations fight this epidemic. All immigrants that have been cleared of infection will be given safe refuge in American compounds run by the military until it is made completely certain that they can be assimilated into safe houses without danger to America._ ”

“I'm torn between being horrified they're gonna let people in here and glad that they're getting the healthy people out,” said Tina in a whisper to Kurt. Kurt, pale as a ghost, just nodded.

“ _The President has asked everyone to stay calm in this time of crisis. Panic would only cause another crisis within our own borders, and we need stability in order to recover from this global ordeal._ ”

“Yeah, because broadcasting this isn't going to put people in a panic,” said Blaine, and Kurt was inclined to agree.

“Hey, at least we get truthful broadcasting,” stated Artie.

Kurt decided to speak up. His voice a bit more breathy and high-pitched than normal, he said, “That we know of.”

Blaine, holding onto Kurt's hand so tightly that it hurt, said darkly, “You don't think it'll reach us, do you?”

* * *

The funny thing was...it actually didn't reach them for two months, a record if one thought about it.

* * *

_11 June +00_

The day after graduation, it started in the Western Hemisphere.

The first instance was in Alaska, though it had quickly spread into western Canada. The outbreak came from an unregistered fishing boat from Russia making a dangerous voyage through the Arctic to bypass all of the port blocks that had been stationed. There had been at least one person that had been infected, and they had come to North America because it had been rumoured that the United States government was working on an aerosol cure for the pathogen (which wasn't a lie, because it had been broadcasted throughout the US). Instead, they had lost containment, and immediately, the reports started coming in.

Kurt, holding his diploma and surrounded by suitcases, watched the news with his family. Finn and Rachel were sitting beside him, also surrounded by suitcases, and Carole was sitting with Kurt's dad on the loveseat as they held hands. The outbreak was spreading and fast, just like it had in Europe. The lack of warning due to a breach in seaport security was a problem, but at least they were more prepared than the rest of the world.

Again, both of the newscasters were the same. Ryder, her hair pulling away from her face in an elegant updo that would probably cause her skin to stretch and wrinkle when she got older _(if_ she got older and didn't die from the outbreak, he couldn't help but pessimistically think) _,_ said solemnly, “ _President Obama is urging people to not panic. The situation, while dire in Canada, is being contained in solely the upper area of of the country. The Canadian government is setting up high resistance to make sure that only healthy survivors make it past the border checkpoints, and that none of the Infected make it into the United States. Again, we urge people to not panic—_ ”

“How do they expect us _not_ to panic?” Rachel asked, her voice a bit shaky but otherwise just as controlled and confident as usual. “There are zombies coming after us and they're getting closer every day. No matter what they do, it just keeps coming.”

“First of all, Rachel, don't call them zombies,” Kurt said, hiding his fear behind a roll of his eyes and an indifferent attitude. “That word is so unoriginal and cheesy.”

“That's what they are though, dude,” said Finn, his voice a bit whiny.

“Again, don't call me _dude_ ,” Kurt said in a no-nonsense tone. “Now if I may continue without being so rudely interrupted...” Finn rolled his eyes and something akin to a smile ghosted across Burt Hummel's face. “They are infected with that mutant virus that the Swiss claimed was supposed to cure cancer.”

“They _eat_ people, and animals too!” Finn exclaimed. “It travels through bites and scratches and blood, man! You gotta shoot 'em in the head! That's the _definition_ of zombie, Kurt, just like _Resident Evil_ said!”

“Finn, let your brother talk,” Carole said, but she looked like she agreed with her biological son.

Kurt shot her a thankful look, and even though he didn't believe a word he was saying, he continued, “They are working on a cure. They aren't even really dead, Finn, which is what 'zombies' are. These people are just infected with a virus that is making them insane, just like with rabies in dogs and humans. Shooting them in the head makes sense, because brain activity determines life and death, but the news _also_ said that shooting them in other vital organs works just as well because they are still technically alive with beating hearts.”

“Do you believe everything the news says?” asked Finn, a slightly maniacal glint in his eyes as he began to panic.

“No, I don't, but I sure as hell prefer having a bit of hope than being nonsensical like you are being,” Kurt stated simply. That was true – he _didn't_ believe everything the news said, but he _did_ believe the immigrants that had been let loose into the US population. Sure, they could've been exaggerating, but Kurt figured that it was safer to assume they were too scared of the infection to lie about something they had seen with their own eyes overseas. He added, “Eventually, the virus will have a cure, or they will all be killed off by the government or by natural causes or even through old age. Who knows? Besides, this is Ohio; we all have guns, and we've been stockpiling supplies for two months now. We'll be safe.”

“We're definitely not going to New York to the college, are we?” asked Rachel in a small voice.

There was a long silence as Kurt and Rachel absorbed that. Then, with in a slow tone, Burt said, “There's no way. I'm sorry, since I know you were both anxious to get to that fancy school you two have been going on about for a year, but New York is too close to the eastern Canadian border for comfort. Hell, _Lima_ is too close to the Canadian border for comfort.”

That statement got everyone's attention rather quickly.

After another long pause, Kurt bemoaned, “Please don't tell me we're going to Tennessee to stay with Aunt Mildred. Because the last time we went there, she was gone all the time and her girlfriend scared me. She looks more manly than _I_ do, Dad, and it's _Tennessee_...”

“You do sometimes look like a girl,” Finn commented.

Kurt picked up an old copy of _Vogue_ and threw it at him, but instead hit Rachel, who squealed.

Meanwhile, Burt said, “Well, think about it this way. They probably have a lot more guns in Tennessee than Ohio, they're much farther away from Canada, and quite frankly, I'm sure half of them have war bunkers underground. It doesn't hurt to be prepared.”

Kurt let out a rather undignified wail and then bolted upstairs to call his boyfriend.

* * *

Blaine's dad was a vehicle designer who normally worked in Europe.

He had been in Ireland when the infection had hit the continent, and Blaine hadn't heard from him since the phones over there had gone down. Blaine had never really had much to do with his dad, due to Blaine liking bowties and musicals whereas Anthony preferred cars and having affairs with younger women. His mother, a woman named Marcille, had divorced him over one affair (Marcille's _sister,_ in fact, who had gotten pregnant with _Blaine's_ sister) and had sued him for more money than Kurt had seen in his life. Therefore, Blaine didn't really know his mother either, except that she lived in California and was married to some wannabe actor.

He had been living with the household staff while watching his little sister Megan, like usual with his travelling dad, and Kurt made an effort to constantly have both of them over. Either that, or they'd all go out as a unit, taking the nine-year-old to movies and amusement parks. Blaine didn't like leaving her by herself or even with sitters and friends of the family, which Kurt didn't blame him for. Megan was a cute kid who loved her brother unconditionally, and since neither Anthony Anderson nor their older brother Cooper were around a lot, having family around in the form of a brother who liked to jump on furniture singing Disney songs was enough to keep the girl grounded.

Also, having Anthony gone and all, and Cooper being in Los Angeles, they mostly kept to themselves. They lived in Dublin, Ohio, within range of Columbus and Westerville (and about an hour and a half or less from Lima, but Blaine's dad made at least seven hundred grand a year, so commuting to Lima for school wasn't that big of a deal), so while they lived close enough to Dalton for Blaine to not be bored without friends, they lived close enough to Blaine's _old_ school for them to be worried about getting caught unawares.

So, since Anthony was gone as far as they knew and they were being hermits anyway, it came as a bit of a shock when Blaine said to Kurt over the phone, “ _I'm sorry, Kurt, but we're not going to Tennessee. My sister has summer programmes and I've got the Six Flags gig again this year, and besides...Cooper hasn't come home yet and what if Dad decides to show up and all he finds is a note saying we bolted with my boyfriend's family to some obscure state in the South, when he doesn't like_ any _of you based on his religious and archaic visual on the family unit? Well, besides sleeping with underaged women while married._ ”

“Breathe, Blaine, and try not to talk all at once,” said Kurt, smiling despite the fact that Blaine seemed pretty firm on not going. Kurt didn't like it very much, but his dad was right about one thing: Ohio was a lot closer to Canada than Tennessee and it was in the middle of the United States, so it would be the last part to get run if the infection got to Mexico as well.

He didn't really believe that the government would be able to contain it. It was terrifying to think about it, but it was pretty clear considering how the other countries in the world had not been able to keep it under wraps. No matter what happened, the infection got through and then people started dying.

He most definitely didn't want to be separated from Blaine at all, especially with the Infected in Canada. It was only a matter of time before it reached America, and Kurt didn't delude himself into thinking that the US could keep it from the border. Obviously, he was worried about Blaine, and he told him this too.

“Blaine, think about it. Your dad isn't going to be able to fly to America any time soon now that the infection has gotten too bad for the government to chance immigrants.” _If he's even alive in Ireland_ was left unsaid. “Even if he doesn't like me, or my family just because they accept me for loving you, I don't think he's going to freak out if we're getting you and your little sister to a safe place after all he's seeing in Ireland. I know, I'm not too happy about not being able to go to New York for the audition, and I know Tennessee is terribly, well, terrible, but it's safe, especially in Ashland City. It's surrounded by gun-toting hillbillies with bomb shelters underground, and not only that, but it's in the centre of the country, so everything will hit us last. And you can just call Cooper and have him meet us down there, and he can stay too, just to be safe.”

“ _I just_ can't _, Kurt. We can't just leave without my dad. He might look down on me because of my sexuality, and we might not get along, but I still love him. He's the only family I really have left besides my siblings, and he's_ all _Megan has left since her mother passed. We can't just leave without him._ ”

Kurt's small smile disappeared rather quickly, a bit taken aback about Blaine's determination to stay in Ohio; at the same time, however, he was not surprised by it at all. “Blaine,” he said firmly, not bothering to hide the fear from his voice. “You need to think about yourself and your sister. You both could _die_ if you stay in Ohio, close to the border. I know you don't want to hear this but the chance that your father is still alive from the infection in Europe is slim to _none,_ and putting your sister in danger because of that irrational hope that he's still alive is completely crazy.”

Okay, maybe that was a bit too far, if judging by the long silence from Blaine's end.

When the silence turned from shocked to angry, Kurt said slowly, “I'm sorry, but the reason you're hurt is because you know it might be true. Look, I love you Blaine, and I want you to be with me. I don't want you to be in any danger, or your sister and brother to be either. Coming with us is the best option.”

“ _Obama and the military aren't going to let the infection get this far_ ,” Blaine said, his voice clipped as if he was fighting the urge to either cry or start screaming. It hit Kurt right in the heart, hearing his boyfriend's voice so tight because of something that Kurt had said – no matter how true said words were – and he tried to keep from sounding so snippy as he answered Blaine.

“Blaine, no one else could keep the infection out for long. Europe, Africa, and Asia are _gone_ , sweetie. Now that they're here, they'll get past the border too. We have to get ready now, before there's no more time _to_ get ready. Blaine, baby, please, come with me. I don't want to lose you. Not now, and not ever.”

There was another long silence, and then Blaine said in a softer tone, “ _I'm sorry, but we're staying here until we hear from my dad. Everything'll be just fine, Kurt. I promise._ ”

It wasn't.


	3. Two: The Loss of the North

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd chapter. Again. This chapter is a bit fast-ish, maybe, I dunno, but the whole beginning of this fiasco is usually quick in all the media. It's the aftermath I'm more interested in anyway. XD Regardless, hope you like the chapter. This one has blood and guts. So much love. And, what, five days until The Walking Dead comes back on? I don't even know any more — I travel so much that time seems irrelevant.

Chapter Two  
_The Loss of the North_

_13 July +00_

Finn cradled Kurt in his arms as the counter-tenor sobbed.

The Infected had finally crossed the borders of the United States of America a week previous, along the eastern coast rather than the previously-figured west coast, and most of New England and the Northern states had been consumed by the virus. The satellites were down, so the cell phones and the Internet was useless, and getting a hold of any family or friends was impossible that way. The landlines had worked for a few days, but then the electricity had gone out in the North due to explosions, warfare, and vehicular accidents. Now it was dark up there except for the few newscasters from broadcasting states that were brave (and stupid) enough to march into the middle of it for the sake of keeping people informed.

Currently, Kurt's entire world was consumed by the fact that Blaine, Cooper (who had joined his siblings two days after Kurt's family had left), and Megan were up there all by themselves, in the middle of Ohio, surrounded by the Infected. Kurt didn't know what was going on, if they were okay or if they were fighting for their lives. Or if...

 _No, they're alive. Blaine's alive. He_ has _to be alive_.

So Kurt wept into his stepbrother's shirt, and tried to not fall apart.

* * *

When the infection breached America, they had gone underground.

Not literally of course, because it wasn't nearly as common as people thought for civilians (even in the South) to have underground fortresses. The first thing they had done was follow the suit of millions of Americans across the continent: get any and all supplies humanly possible before it was all gone. Food, water, toiletries in the bundles, medical supplies and first aid, generators and fuel (that Burt said probably wouldn't be used except under extreme circumstances), entertainment like books and board games, ways to board up and defend houses or places of residence during the occupation of the Infected, and most importantly, _weapons_. Guns, ammunition, and knives were the most common, but Aunt Mildred and Burt had also accumulated the more uncommon, like baseball bats, crossbows, hammers, power tools, and various other little things that didn't seem to be weapons until wielded as one.

They made the two-level house that Aunt Mildred lived in as fortified as possible. All down the roads in Ashland City, Tennessee, other residents were doing the same thing to their own homes and businesses. The warning they had was more than they could've hoped for, but still, they were all armed just in case the Infected came sooner than expected.

The baseball bat felt awkward in Kurt's hand, but since he didn't know how to shoot a weapon and would rather have the reach of a bat than of a knife, he just dealt with it. They worked on the house, making sure that the windows wouldn't break in and the doors were thick with steel plates, and not for the first time, Kurt was thankful that his father had made him work at the tyre shop and around the house growing up. He was handy with power tools and with machinery, and knew his way around electrical boxes and plumbing. Sure, he had kicked and screamed the entire time until he had bargained a deal with his dad regarding his formfitting, knee-length sweaters and getting jackets from bondage shops (hey, straight-jackets were very stylish and looked great on him). Secretly, though, he did like working with his hands, getting dirty under the hood of a car or neck-deep in an electrical box.

Blaine didn't leave his thoughts, nor did his brother or sister. His friends from New Directions were always in the back of his mind as well. Mr Schuester and Miss Pillsbury hadn't been heard from since the phones had gone down, but otherwise, the others were safe as far as Kurt knew. Hopefully. Mercedes and her family were in Georgia with family, Artie and his parents were in California, and Santana had left with Brittany's family to Texas to be with Brittany's older sister. Mike and Tina had been separated after Mike had been taken out of school by his parents, and Tina was in Oklahoma visiting her college and laying low with a friend from Asian Camp until it all died down (if it did, and boy, was he pessimistic). Mike, on the other hand, was in Florida as far as everyone knew. Lauren had bunkered down in Ohio with Puck, in exactly the same way that everyone was doing in Tennessee, and they had been carrying enough weapons that Kurt was somewhat relieved even if he was still terrified. Quinn had been nonsensical, as well as her mother. They had flown to Hawaii, using money from the settlement in the ex-Mrs. Fabray's divorce, and had hysterically declared that they were praying for all of them from the island.

Blaine was the only one that Kurt wasn't really sure about the safety of.

Rachel, Rachel's dads, Finn, Carole, Burt, and Kurt were all in Tennessee. Rachel had all but forced her dads to come with her to Kurt's Aunt Mildred's place, and Hiram had relented by dragging his husband, Leroy, with him. It was rather annoying, really, having two men (one relentless with his gay-ness in a way that made _Kurt_ look butch) that were married and then two lesbians (one relentless with her gay-ness in a way that made Kurt look _feminine_ ) all in the same house. Rachel seemed to bask in it, especially since Jessica, Mildred's girlfriend, had taken a real shine to her. It drove Finn nuts though, just for Rachel's sake – he still had a bit of inbred dislike towards gay people no matter how tolerant he had become, and having a woman who looked as manly as Finn did hitting on his girlfriend every two seconds was about where the line was drawn.

 _That didn't even make sense in_ my _head, for God's sake_ , Kurt thought as the lot of them admired the finished work of their fortified house.

It sort of looked like a prison, but it was better being locked inside of a prison than to be running around like buffoons when the Infected breached Tennessee (the state had its own National Guard, as well as volunteer militia made up of rednecks and general badarses, just like every other state wanting to defend its borders, but Kurt didn't think it would hold either). Being locked inside Aunt Mildred's house with a bunch of homosexuals, plus Burt, Rachel, and Finn (the men being clearly uncomfortable as they tried desperately to hide it), didn't sound like very much fun.

Eventually, when conversation about how to improve the fortifications died out, they all trekked back to the house, locking it up tight behind them. There was no clear indication on when the Infected would come to their doorstep, but it was already in Ohio and Missouri, so it was safe to assume that it would hit Tennessee hard and fast. What made it a thousand times worse was that while Tennessee (at least around Ashland City) still had electricity and the television, there just wasn't a lot on to determine the rate of contamination, so they were blind.

The reports on the news stated the same thing: _the Infected have breached the border of the United States; President Obama is urging people to flee the North to military compounds and camps as safely as possible while the infection is contained; the government is advising people to fortify their homes in case the Infected breach through security checkpoints that have been instated in every state; the Infected are not dead, but there is no antivirus that has been successful on the infection, so the government has given permission to any American to use deadly force against the Infected if needed for survival; the most effective way to kill the Infected is to cut off brain activity or destroy the heart, because otherwise, they will continue to advance; infection is spread through secretions, like saliva or blood, so any blood transfusion or bites from the Infected immediately begins to spread in the new subject; sound and scent seems to be the trigger for an attack, so stay indoors and as quiet as possible; we will be going off the air as the rate of infection increases, but be assured that if you stay in your homes and use deadly force against the Infected, you can stay safe until the military regains control over the situation._

If they ever did.

Burt took Finn, Rachel, and Kurt up to the second floor den, where there was a balcony with chairs. It was boarded up with metal plates, but Burt unlocked the padlock and opened it up, blasting them with cheery sunlight that hurt their eyes. All of them took a seat, watching Burt as he silently started showing them how to load the rifle. Then, he put it up to the arm of the balcony, bracing it with his elbows and forearms, and said, “Look through the scope. When you see your target, focus on it instead of being determined to hit it. Breathe in and then out slowly, and then allow yourself to follow through with the fire of the weapon. You probably won't hit right on target every time, even with experience, but it's better to hit relatively on target than wasting ammunition and not hitting anything.”

“Are you teaching us how to kill them?” asked Finn, his face paler than usual. Kurt was probably just as pale, but he refused to acknowledge it. He wasn't happy about the idea of killing another human being even _if_ they were infected, but still, if he had to protect his family and his friends, then he would. Even if it did make him a murderer.

The look on Burt's face was indescribable. “Yes,” he said, to-the-point in a voice that most certainly wasn't calm nor shaky. “I'm not happy about this at all, but when the Infected come, I can't protect all of you, and the weapons you have now won't cut it. If the time comes, just like with all the other countries taken over by this infection, I will feel a thousand times better knowing that you can defend yourself against them. I want you to be able to defend yourselves if it comes to that.”

“It won't come to that, though,” Rachel said, her voice high with fear. “We're going to stay in the house and we're going to be saved by the military. We don't need to learn how to _kill_ people, because they're still alive and that's against _God_ , Mr. Hummel.”

“Yeah,” Finn added, his voice also a bit high and his face going green with nausea. “We're going to be okay as long as we don't go outside and we stay quiet, right? The scientist dudes will come up with something, just like they said they would, and we won't have to hurt anyone. Infected or not, they're still people Burt.”

Kurt didn't delude himself into thinking he was brave or overly strong. He was used to having to stick up for himself, forced to being stronger mentally to get through the bullying on his sexuality, voice, and love of fashion. That was in the past for the moment, though, because there was a world bigger than having the latest scarf from Alexander McQueen on the market, or using some clever comeback after a football player called him a gay slur and drowned him in a grape slushie. He would have to be something other than a Broadway artist or a fashion designer, because everything had changed. Maybe things _would_ go back to normal after a cure was created, but for now, he had to be prepared for the worst. It wasn't a second and third change of clothes from the slushies or a backup song just in case Rachel stole his brilliant idea for Glee, but instead something a bit more serious, and being prepared was something he was good at.

“Well, it doesn't hurt to be prepared,” said Kurt, swallowing thickly as he reached his shaking hands out to grasp the gun. “Besides, if God does exist, he apparently doesn't care about us anyway.”

“Don't say that,” whispered Rachel.

Burt didn't say anything, but the indescribable expression grew more sad as he watched his son inspect the surprisingly heavy weapon.

“I've never been a fan of pipe dreams, Rachel,” he said, and then he turned to his dad with a sick expression. “Teach me how to shoot this thing now, before I lose my nerve.”

And Burt did.

* * *

_24 July +00_

The first time Kurt seen the Infected with his own eyes was also the first time he killed one.

The electricity had gone down the day previous, the phones a day before that, so they had known that it was coming. It still didn't make it any easier, though, and living in fear was the worst.

They had been told constantly by Burt and Aunt Mildred that guns were a last resort, because the noise would attract them, so when the screaming had started, they had made sure that every gun was accounted for in the kitchen. Burt and Kurt, sitting together in the dim kitchen, loaded the magazines, clipped them in the guns, and cocked the chamber (if applicable). Then they moved on to the next gun until all of them were ready, just in case it came to that. The screaming and firing of weapons had started across Ashland City a few hours ago, waking them up, and even though Annette Drive was still silent as it was a bit from the city, they had still instantly began preparing for the beginning of it.

Then the gunfire had started on Annette just after dawn.

Kurt left Burt in the kitchen and walked as silently as he could upstairs. He passed Hiram and Leroy in the guest bedroom, both of them looking through the cracks of the boarded windows, and then Jessica and Aunt Mildred in their own room, who were doing the same thing as the two married men. He continued down the hall, the hall being empty after they had put everything that couldn't be bolted to the floor in the attic, until he reached the second bedroom where his dad and Carole were sleeping while at the house.

Finn and Rachel were also looking out the boarded windows from that room. Rachel was crying in that silent way she had, and Finn just cradled her gently. Kurt walked gently towards them, and sat down on the bed on the other side of Finn, letting his glasz eyes focus through the cracks as well.

On the street below there were five people with guns and one of the women was holding a young girl. She was probably about six or seven, with dark hair and eyes, and she was screaming on the top of her lungs as a group of at least a dozen Infected ran after them. The bear in her arms was falling from her clenched grasp, and her cherubic face was covered in blood splatters, from what Kurt couldn't see. Perhaps someone around her had died, or maybe it was from the Infected.

One of the men placed himself in between the woman holding the child and one the Infected that chased. He kept pulling the trigger on the revolver, but the gun didn't fire. He kept stumbling on his feet, as only running backwards could do, and then he fell. They were upon him like a frenzy, and Rachel turned to retch in the trash can beside the desk. Kurt closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the sight of it lest he get sick, and when he opened his eyes again after the screaming stopped, he could feel the wetness of tears falling from his eyes.

The little girl screamed louder when the woman holding her faltered. The woman shrieked once, loudly, begging for someone to open their doors for them to get to safety, and then the Infected were upon them. The woman dropped the girl, who immediately bolted towards the rest of her party, and the woman was attacked just like the man before her. Finn and Kurt, both of them shaking uncontrollably, held onto each other while Rachel wrapped her arms around Finn's legs as if letting go would cause the world to end. The two boys watched, crying softly, as they watched the woman die with a blood-curdling scream.

Then, out of nowhere, there were two more Infected in the way. The two adults that had paused only for a moment to pick up the little girl were simultaneously attacked, one of the Infected sinking its teeth into the black man's neck. Distantly from their perch on the second story, the three teenagers could hear the gurgling sound as the man choked on his own blood, the vermilion liquid visibly spewing from the man's jugular.

Then there was a loud gunshot and one of the Infected went down.

Finn, Rachel, and Kurt all looked at each other, and then Kurt whispered, “It was one of us. You guys stay here – I'll find out who did it.” When they nodded and turned back to the window, just as another gunshot rang out from Aunt Mildred's house, Kurt bolted downstairs as quickly as he could without making too much noise. He already knew who it was, because the shot would've been louder had it come from the others on the first story. And when he finally got downstairs and seen his father with the barrel of a gun sticking out the boarded-up kitchen window, he wasn't surprised.

“Dad, what're you doing? You said not to use guns!” Kurt hissed as his dad shot another round, but even though he couldn't condemn his father for his actions, he was still terrified about his own family's safety. Burt had made the right choice though – it had been terrible watching that little girl scream as her friends and-or family were killed by the Infected right in front of her.

“I can't just watch those people die, especially that little girl, Kurt. Carole's at the door, and she's going to try to call in the girl and her friend when I've taken out all the Infected. There aren't many of them on the street yet, so I had to.”

Kurt closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then grabbed a pistol from the table. “Just kill them Dad, so they don't get us.”

Burt shot off another bullet, all while saying in a rough voice, “No, you're going upstairs and you're going to barricade the staircase after packing up all the weapons, just like we talked about if the Infected ever made it into the house. I'm not letting you put yourself in danger just because of my choice.”

Kurt was still terrified and almost wanted to follow his dad's advice and curl up in a bedroom, and he even started packing up all the guns and ammunition on the table. However, right before he went upstairs to deliver the guns to the others and tell them to barricade the staircase, he said, “No. I'm the fastest one in this house, and I have a better shot than all but Jessica. Even you, Dad.” That wasn't a lie either; it had shocked most of them that he had picked up the use of a gun as quickly and as accurately as he had. “I'm helping both of you, not just for that little girl's sake but for you and Carole's too.”

Burt tried to protest but Kurt was already lugging the bag of weapons towards the staircase. It was god-awful heavy, so he left it at the foot of the stairs and bolted back up, barging in Aunt Mildred's room. His fair-skinned, brunette aunt glanced at him with sad, dark eyes, and said in her thick Tennessee accent, “Jess, go get the guns from the stairs. We're gonna get that 'lil girl from the streets before they eat 'er alive.”

As they started moving to prepare, Jessica, all stocky and muscular and masculine, said in an equally thick accent, “You runnin' out there, kid?”

Kurt swallowed back the fear and said, “Yeah. I'm faster and better at shooting than most of the people in here. I can get her, I know I can.”

Aunt Mildred took a shaky breath and told him, “Jess'll cover ya when you're out there. Burt'll getcha from the window. You'll be just fine, sweetie, I know it. Let's hurry it up before more of 'em come and cause trouble.”

Aunt Mildred left to go inform Hiram, Leroy, Finn, and Rachel of what was going to transpire, and only due to the immense amount of times the adults had drilled the necessity of being quiet kept the others from calling out. Kurt saw Carole run past him upstairs, to join the others, probably at the bequest of Burt, and for that Kurt was grateful – if something did happen, at least Finn would have his mother to keep him from doing something stupid. Jessica picked out a pistol herself (Kurt preferred the Glock, but she liked the .357, which Kurt just didn't understand) and then lugged the rest of the guns upstairs, giving her girlfriend a rather heated kiss before the steel door was fitted into place where the stairs breached the second floor. If the Infected got into the house, it was safe to assume that they would be safe up there. The food and supplies, and now the weapons, were all upstairs, so they could feel confident that if something happened, they would still be okay.

Jessica and Kurt took up point at the front door, waiting for Burt to give the go-ahead. A few moments later, after two shots from the rifle, Burt yelled, “You be careful and come back to me Kurt!”

It killed his dad to let him out to save that girl, Kurt knew, but maybe Burt was a bit proud of him too. Kurt knew he was proud of _himself_ , at the same time being scared out of his wits.

The blast of hot, humid air hit him hard in the face, and he could smell the stench of faeces and decay, so when he brought his gun up and started bolting, he chose to open his mouth to breathe. He could almost taste the scent of it, but it was better than making his eyes water from the smell of all that disgusting matter. After all, he needed his sight.

The little girl was standing in the middle of the street, frozen in sheer terror as the last Infected gained ground on her. The others save one were dead on the ground, to be left there until either the government cleaned it up or until they rotted into the pavement, so Kurt bypassed their corpses and finally reached the blood-splattered girl. He heard Jessica behind him, distracting three of the Infected into running in her direction instead of the little girl's, all while getting the sole surviving man to come with her to the fortified house.

“Hey,” he said in a breathless voice as he heard one shot and one body hit pavement. “We need to hide. Come on, sweetie. We have to hide from the bad guys. Do you see that blue house over there?” She nodded tearfully as he watched the Infected with a wary eye, trying to get her to move. “We have to get there as soon as possible. It's safe there.” He forced her to gain back momentum, letting them sprint in the direction of said house. Kurt knew his way was going to be blocked so he compensated by making a sharp turn to the right, cutting into a neighbour's yard. He heard a shot ring out but he didn't hear a body hit the concrete, which either meant his father had missed with the rifle or they were gaining ground and had reached the lawn, muffling the sound of a body landing. He urged the girl to move faster, but she was practically a dead weight, paralysed with fear and grief.

Kurt barely even stopped to think as he paused for the briefest moment, glancing behind them. There were still two chasing them, just reaching the lawn so his father must've missed, but Kurt didn't register it in the face of picking the girl up across the middle. It surely was part adrenaline and part pure fear that he could pick her up so easily and begin running. After all, there were trees blocking his sight of Aunt Mildred's house (which in effect meant the rifle taking the Infected out) _and_ of Jessica, which was definitely not the position he wanted to be in with a child in his arms. With an incredible burst of strength and stamina that he knew his muscles and bones would regret later if he survived this, he all but flew through the trees and met his worst nightmare.

The solitary Infected was a large man that towered over Kurt tremendously, and Kurt dropped the girl with an uncommonly hoarse “ _run_!” He barely had time to watch her bolt in the direction of Aunt Mildred's before he was falling over with the Infected man on top of him. The scent of putrid decay, blood, faeces, urine, and bile rushed into his nose as he inhaled sharply with shock, shoving both hands against the Infected's face as he fought to keep the monster from biting him. The teeth, red with blood while chunks of flesh and plaque littered the bones, snapped at him like a rabid dog, and Kurt felt saliva hit his face and neck.

He heaved with exertion, trying to remember through the terror of his situation what had happened to the two other Infected giving chase _and_ his gun. He knew that he wouldn't be able to reach out to grab his gun as he was simultaneously trying to keep the teeth from his flesh while kicking his legs against the Infected's clawing fingers. He simply wasn't strong enough to do much more than hold him off, and that was going to end soon, as he was tiring even through the adrenaline. The teeth got closer and closer, and Kurt tried harder and harder to keep them away to no avail. He closed his eyes tightly, and then there was a crack as Kurt's wrist snapped with the effort to keep the monster away. Immediately, he cried out in pain as he felt a sharp pinch on the junction of his shoulder and neck, and he wasn't sure what it was but he knew he was going to die.

And then he was free.

The Infected man flew as Jessica rammed him in a powerful tackle. They were tangled in a jumble of limbs, and Kurt sucked in air as his watery eyes searched frantically for a weapon of some sort. His gun was a few feet away, most likely dropped from the initial shock, and he grasped it in a shaky grip, his surely broken arm cradled against his chest, and aimed it.

He took two deep breaths, trying to calm himself even though his senses were on high-alert for any other Infected around them, and then he pulled the trigger.

The blood splattered against Jessica's breasts and stomach as the bullet went straight through the Infected's nose and out his ear, and Kurt didn't stop to freak out about pretty much murdering another human being before they both bolted again towards the house. “What about...the girl?” Kurt choked out as they ran for their lives. There were more Infected behind them, their shrieks and grunts an ever-growing symphony of horror and death, and they had no time.

“Burt...has...her,” Jessica wheezed, her muscular and heavy body heaving with exhaustion. “Other guy...dead.”

That was enough for Kurt Hummel. They sprinted into the lawn of Aunt Mildred, where Burt was yelling at them to hurry, and then they were inside. Burt pulled the padlocks and for a long moment, there was silence except for heavy breathing and Kurt's small whimpers of pain, and then the Infected reached the house, banging on everything they could reach. They all just stayed there, Kurt on the ground in pain while Burt and Jessica double checked all the doors and windows, before it hit Kurt rather harshly.

_I killed another human being._

He lifted his unbroken arm and touched the throbbing pain on his shoulder.

_And that Infected guy bit me. I'm infected. I'm going to become one of them._

Kurt started to sob.

 _I'm going to either kill all of my family and friends, or I'm going to die_.

 _I'm going to die_...


	4. Three: Truth of the Immigrant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Walking Dead comes on today! Huzzah! I'm very-very-very excited, you have no idea. I've somewhat decided that I'm gonna update on Sundays because nothing gets me more pumped than, well, cigarettes, and then my favourite show on the telly! Regardless. Unbeta'd, like usual, and hope you enjoy. Can't wait to get past all this crap.

Chapter Three  
_Truth of the Immigrant_

_24 July +00_

Burt was weeping, cradling Kurt so tightly it hurt.

At the same time, Aunt Mildred, who was a veterinarian, took a look at Kurt's left arm. She poked and prodded it before the drugs they had given him kicked in, so he continuously hissed and silently cried as she jostled the swollen and inflamed flesh. Eventually, she said in a whisper that could barely be heard over the banging the Infected were making, “It's definitely broken. It's your wrist _and_ arm, sweetie, pretty sure 'bout that. I got stuff to make a cast, 'cause I'm gonna bind it up anyway.”

 _Anyway_. That word hurt, and Aunt Mildred's rather pretty features twisted in sadness. Burt squeezed Kurt harder, to where Kurt couldn't breathe, but quite frankly he didn't care – having his father close to him was comforting in its own way, like his existence wasn't going to end.

He had so many dreams, and now everything was gone. He'd never see Blaine again, to hold his hand or kiss him, to live out life to the fullest. He wasn't going to be a Broadway star, the CEO of Logo, or a fashion designer for his own ultra-famous label. He wasn't going to marry Blaine and maybe adopt some kids, or perhaps even surrogate them from a female donor (a vision of Rachel carrying Kurt and Blaine's child just like her mother Shelby had carried Rachel flashed in his mind, and he nearly threw up at the visual).

They had bandaged up the bite on his neck first, as it was bleeding rather heavily when they had come in. Carole and Aunt Mildred assured him that nothing vital had been torn, so there was that. He wasn't going to die from blood loss, but instead from infection that would make him into a cannibal. He wasn't sure what was worse. Well, yes he was, and he was already thinking ahead about that.

He didn't want to hurt his friends and family. Especially his dad, Carole, or Finn. He wasn't going to sit around, waiting for the fever and the delirium to hit him, only so he could lose his mind and attack the people he loved. He simply couldn't handle that. The others had to stay safe, even if it meant that he had to be...dealt with.

“Dad,” he said, his voice small with lack of oxygen and fear. “I don't want to be like them.”

Burt didn't offer false assurances about Kurt being okay in the end, which Kurt was thankful for, because it _wasn't_ going to be okay. It simply _wasn't_. Instead, he said to Jessica, “Get all of the guns in a room Kurt can't get to.” She turned and walked past Rachel, her dad's, and Finn, all of which were looking at him with either sadness or pity. Rachel was crying, her face red and blotchy from the force of it, so Kurt looked away and focussed on someone more needing of eye contact.

Therefore, Kurt tried to glare at his dad but he was still crying a bit himself so the effect wasn't as successful as he would've liked. “Dad,” he said in a much stronger voice, “what are you going to do? Lock me in a room and not let me out until the military comes in with some super-cure that'll make everything okay again? That could be years, decades even. They haven't even come up with a cure for AIDS or cancer yet. Hell, this virus that I've got now was _supposed_ to be the cure for cancer and look how that turned out! I don't want to live as one of those _things_ , potentially hurting all of you, _killing you_! If you won't do it to keep the rest of your family safe, _Dad_ , I'll do it myself!”

“Shut up, Kurt!” yelled Finn, shocking the lot of them. “It's gonna be just like _Dawn of the Dead_ , when that one guy gets bit and his daughter doesn't want him to die, okay? We're gonna wait for you to turn into a zombie, and then we'll do whatever we have to. But as far as I'm concerned, my brother is still alive and talking to me, so killing you or letting you kill yourself really _is_ murder. So just shut up and make do with what you got left, for _God's sake_!”

No one spoke for a long time, just staring at Finn in the face of his vehemence, and then Kurt sniffled. “Don't call me a zombie, Finn.”

Finn gave him a shaky smile that Kurt returned, and then Kurt said, “Alright, Aunt Mildred. Let's set my arm in a cast. It'll make me less dangerous with a heavy lump of plaster on my arm anyway.”

Burt flinched, but let Kurt go, and they all made their way upstairs.

* * *

The little girl's name was Akilina Petrova.

She had been bitten twice, once on the arm and another on her right shoulder blade, when running from the Infected on the street. She wasn't crying, instead just staring blankly at the wall opposite of the bed she was in, and somehow that was worse than the crying. It was like she had just given up.

She said to Kurt in a small, high voice, her English nearly perfect through the thick Russian accent, “Mother said that we'd be safe ov'r here. We _were_ safe ov'r here for long time. But God decided to punish us even more for our sins by bringing sickness here to follow us.”

Finn, who was doodling on Kurt's bland white cast, rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. Burt, however, said, “I'm sorry you've had to go through this, Akilina.”

She continued to stare at the wall with blank brown eyes, the bear clenched in her arms. The blood had been cleaned off her and the bites had been cleaned and bandaged, but while Kurt's bite was aching and causing him discomfort, she didn't even seem to register it even as she laid upon the one on her shoulder blade. She was pretty disconnected from reality, which didn't exactly surprise Kurt; she had lived through hell in Russia, and then she had thought she was safe in America only to find that the horror had followed her. God brought into the equation or not, it was still a lot for a seven-year-old to handle. She was alone in the world, her family dead or worse, and the strain of it was just too much.

Eventually she answered, “I am sorry your son is caught with Devil's curse. I watched it happen to my brother and it hurt lots to see him inflicted.”

“How long does it take for... _it_ to happen?” asked Kurt, unable to control himself.

Those dark eyes blinked once, the bear in her arms being squeezed with memories, and then she said, “It took him one day for fever, and then few hours later, we had to kill him or he kill us.” Rachel, who had finally gotten her sobbing under control, broke out in tears again. Akilina didn't seem to notice or care, as she continued, “It was faster for my father, maybe because he was sick with flu and my brother was stronger. Ov'r here it seems to happen faster with Americans. Most of your kind is too fat or too skinny, both sins against God, and makes you unhealthy so curse spreads faster.”

Kurt looked down at his body. He still could only see his pear hips and chubby cheeks, even though he was constantly told by his friends and family that he had really grown out of the baby fat. Blaine always told him he was beautiful, and Kurt didn't think he was necessarily _bad_ looking, but still. There was always room for improvement.

“I don't believe in God,” Kurt said rather bluntly to the little girl. The others in the room except Jessica and Finn all flinched, whereas Akilina finally looked away from the wall. Her dark eyes were dead to the world, showing no hostility, but that didn't stop her from speaking her mind.

“And that's why you afflicted with Devil's Curse, because you are walking, breathing sin against His Holiness.”

Burt and the three Berrys bristled at that, always quick to temper, but Kurt just waved around his good arm and said, “Don't. It's fine.” He almost said, _then why are_ you _inflicted, Akilina? What did you do that made God despise your existence? What did your_ family _do that made God's choice to turn them into monsters justifiable? What sin made God force a monster to take a bite out of your shoulder in retribution?_

He couldn't though. She was just a child in a scary world, brainwashed by the more extremist Christians out there. Thankfully most of the Christians in the world weren't like that, as his family and even his lesbian aunt were good examples of that, but in the new world run by the Infected, Kurt was afraid it was going to be a bit more common as people tried to explain the tragedy.

At least Kurt wouldn't be around for _that_ backlash, even though he was terrified of dying itself. There were bound to be some of the more radical nuts (probably from the WBC, the bastards) that would hunt out gay people and sacrifice them to their so-called God so they could be delivered from the evil of the Infected.

Finn, who had stopped doodling on Kurt's cast as he openly glared at the little girl, apparently did not share Kurt's apprehension for attacking Akilina. “Why not? What makes her so different than you? You risked your life to save hers, Kurt, and she goes off on a tirade about how _you're_ the sinner when she's _just_ as _infected_ as you are? That's crap, man, and no one should stand for it, no matter how old you are.”

“ _Finn_ Hudson!” cried Carole and Rachel at the same time.

The little girl just turned back to the wall and said softly, “I know I've sinned against Him, and my family had too. But we will have our Saviours, the ones God blessed with His hands, and they will deliver us from evil with power of God upon their shoulders.” She let out a cough that sounded too wet to be normal, and even though it was clear Aunt Mildred was rather irritated at the girl, she advanced on Akilina.

“Hold this under your tongue and try not to cough,” Kurt's aunt said, and Akilina obliged, letting the thermometer rest. Her dark eyes were watering, either with the infection spreading in her veins or trying to hold back the urge to cough again, and Aunt Mildred wiped the wetness with a damp cloth. Even before the thermometer was done reading, Aunt Mildred said gently, “You're burnin' up, Akilina. I'm gonna get you another cool, wet cloth for your forehead, alrighty?”

“Thank you,” the girl mumbled around the thermometer, which Aunt Mildred tsked at her for. She didn't say another word as the brunette disappeared downstairs to fetch her items.

Finn turned away from the bed and back to Kurt, who was lying down on the pull-out so the little girl would be comfortable. They were going to stay in the same room, and when the... _time_ got close, Jessica was going to do the honours of making sure they didn't hurt anyone after the infection finally took hold. Finn had said from the beginning that he wasn't leaving even then, because it was wrong for them to do this, but Kurt had playfully mussed his hair and gestured to his abhorrent cast that needed to be designed by his stepbrother.

Finn didn't turn back to drawing aliens though (he was actually quite a good artist, even though Finn didn't believe it), and instead brushed a calloused hand across Kurt's own forehead. Kurt cringed, because not only was he all sweaty and sticky and gross from outside, but seriously, what if he suddenly lost his senses and bit Finn's hand off? He didn't though, because Finn pulled back and said, “ _You_ aren't any hotter than you usually are.”

Kurt snorted rather loudly and Finn rolled his eyes again. “That's not how I meant it, _dude_ ,” Finn said, but a smile was twitching on the corner of his lips. Finn was rather endearing when he wasn't trying so hard, and while Kurt didn't have a crush on him any more (thank God for small favours), Kurt always felt more drawn to him in another way every single day he was simply Finn. It wasn't exactly brotherly, and it wasn't exactly friendly. Maybe they were kindred spirits or something, Kurt didn't know. That sounded overly cheesy. Kurt just knew that he felt so much for the unfashionable idiot that it was almost ridiculous.

Aunt Mildred didn't come back in time, so Burt plucked the thermometer out of the girl's mouth gently when it beeped. “102.2,” he said in a low voice. He tore off the plastic surrounding and put a new one on, advancing on Kurt. Kurt almost wanted to ask him to let him do it himself, but he knew that his father already felt helpless enough, so he allowed Burt to put it under his tongue.

Finn continued doodling and Burt took a seat at the foot of Kurt's pull-out bed. Kurt brought up his good arm to scratch an itch right above the bite from the Infected, trying not to let himself think about the fact that it was itching. Didn't that mean that it was healing? But then again, that in itself was ridiculous because it had just happened a good two hours ago, so it was probably just the infection spreading. Kurt could still hear the banging that the Infected made as they tried to get inside the house. It was an erratic, terrible droning that made the hair on the back of Kurt's neck stand up. He wished it would stop, but he knew that it wouldn't go away any time soon. Maybe they'd wonder off, but he doubted it.

Aunt Mildred came back in just as Finn signed his name in rather good handwriting (in contrast to Kurt's own rather boyish messy handwriting, which went against all stereotypes), smiling rather goofily at his handiwork on the boring white cast. Burt gave a small smile and beckoned for a Sharpie marker, accepting the black one rather enthusiastically. He signed his name – well, he signed _Dad_ – in the space that Finn had left for such things, in his own rather messy handwriting, and then let everyone else have their turn with their own colours of choice. Aunt Mildred chose purple, Jessica lime green, the two Berry men in blue. Rachel was pretty obvious choosing the red one since it was the closest to pink, and Akilina just stared at the wall, completely oblivious to everything around her. Kurt didn't even know if they signed casts where she was from, although that was pretty unlikely. When there was something blank around, friends and family always doodled if the situation was okay for it.

The thermometer beeped and Burt pulled it out, frowning. “99.2,” he mumbled, raising an eyebrow. Kurt paused at that, frowning himself. He knew that he always looked remarkably like his father when he frowned, but he couldn't really help himself on that.

“What's wrong?” asked Carole. “He has a fever, just not as progressive since he's bigger than Akilina and got bitten after him.”

Burt said slowly, “He doesn't have a fever though. In fact, it's actually a bit lower than usual. Kurt's temperature always averaged about 99.4, even whenever he was younger. It drove the doctor's nuts, said he was going to end up infertile when he was older because of it.”

It was something Kurt had always known, but as he was gay and not ready for children anyway, he had never been tested to see if he could have kids. Maybe he would've in the future, when Blaine and Kurt had gotten married and to that point, but now that the world had gone to hell there was no way he could really know. He doubted there would be in vitro fertilisation when that point arrived, let alone a productive society with government, and besides, he was infected and he was going to die. It was mortally simple, and Kurt almost started to cry again on how easily he could throw that word around: _die_.

The lack of temperature was startling though. “Maybe it's just delayed. I mean, Akilina was bitten twice, and I only have one bite. Also, she probably was bitten before me, before we even came into the picture outside. It could've had a lot more time to spread before I was bitten myself. And like Aunt Mildred said, I _am_ bigger than she is, so it's probably taking longer to spread.”

“Yeah, but you were bit on the neck, Kurt,” said Jessica before anyone else could speak. “That's closer to the brain, ain't it?” _Isn't it_ , Kurt corrected mentally, but he didn't voice that thought out loud. “You'd think it'd spread faster than her, being bit on the shoulder.”

Akilina was looking at him rather...well, the only word Kurt could come up with was _intently_. The expression on her face was hard for Kurt to work, because it was perhaps a mixture of confusion, shock, anger, and something akin to awe or amazement. Kurt felt a small shiver down his spine, because that wasn't normal, and it was so _focussed_ that it made him almost uncomfortable. Eventually he interrupted the other voices, all of them trying to explain the oddity of his temperature, by saying, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Aunt Mildred, who was making a comment about Kurt's immune response being late or even non-existent, said, “What?”

Akilina just continued to stare at him in that odd way, but now everyone else was watching and noticing it too. She didn't say anything at all though, just continuing to stare until eventually her purplish eyelids fluttered and she seemingly lost consciousness.

There was a bit of a bustle after that. Everyone, as demanded by Kurt, Burt, and Carole, were forced to leave. Finn and Rachel looked the most reluctant, but with a pointed glance from Carole, Aunt Mildred led them towards the exit.

Carole, ever the nurse, bustled around Akilina, trying to make her regain consciousness at first and then reverting to just trying to make the girl comfortable. She put a dropper full of cold medicine (not children's, because they hadn't really thought about that in the initial panic) past her unresisting lips and forced her to swallow by massaging her throat gently. Kurt and Burt watched this with identical expressions on their faces, both their eyes filled with something akin to fear and apprehension. Kurt wasn't sure if he was having a different reaction to the infection as Akilina, but he knew that it would spread quickly to his brain and he'd end up a monster eventually. He eyed the .357 Magnum on the armchair, thought about making a jump for it, and then decided that he couldn't do it in front of his father or step-mother anyway.

He accepted a bit of soup and prepared himself for the longest wait of his life.


	5. Four: The Sickness of the Reckless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very fucking excited about the new episode today - dude, me thinks that the writers are going to torture me longer and not bring Merle in. They're gonna have the entire episode about Andrea and Michonne just to torture me. I hope not for my own sanity, but I can totally see them doing that. Fuck cliffhangers, man! Anyway, hope you like the chapter. Unbeta'd like usual, and peace off!

Chapter Four  
_The Sickness of the Reckless_

_25 July +00_

_Please._

Burning-twisting-throw up in the bin-force the water down-choke-screaming-snarl-blood-pain- _kill it!_ -unconscious—

( _is this death is this what it's like to die i don't wanna die daddy please!_ )

—no breath-hurts-explosion-pain-maybe a gunshot or was that just-can't breathe-screaming-stop screaming- _Jessica_!-quiet-sobbing-painpainpain—

( _why does it hurt so much daddy why wont you save me why does it hurt_ )

—why-please-pain-burns-throw up in the bin-try to breathe-no water-screaming-twist and shake and convulse- _fuck_!-light as a feather-throw up- _it's gonna be okay son_ -make it stop—

( _mommy where are you i miss you i need you to save me take me to heaven please_ )

_Please._

* * *

The room was quiet except for heavy, choked, hoarse breathing.

It was dark here, so dark he couldn't see, and maybe he didn't want to see where the heavy, choked, hoarse breathing was coming from. He tried to stay still so he didn't attract the sound of the Infected, because he knew that if he so much as made a sound he would end up in even more pain than he already was currently experiencing. The bite wound on his neck was ungodly profound, and there were new wounds that he could feel even without seeing them. The arm not in a cast was throbbing with the rapid beats of his heart because of _something_ that had happened, and his hip was positively screaming in the same way. Had Akilina changed and gotten more chunks out of him before she had been taken down (god, he actually felt terrible for thinking that about a small girl, no matter how infected she was)? Had he been shot by accident?

Was he dead?

No, the pain was too great for that to be the case. He could feel it in every bone, every fibre of his being, every molecule of blood that scorched his insides like fire. He could feel it in his parched throat, his pounding head, his twitching fingers that he couldn't keep still even to save his own life from the Infected in the room. It wasn't like it mattered anyway, because he was going to die from this anyway. He was going to become one of those monsters and why hadn't anyone killed him yet to spare him of this misery?

“Kurt?” a voice whispered, vaguely familiar, but Kurt couldn't place it from the fiery blood rushing through his ears and head. He tried to focus on it, _anything_ but the agony that he felt all over, and tried to make a noise, only to realise that the breathing grew louder.

Dear God, was that _him_?

He tried to stop it, tried to _stop_ , but he couldn't. The breathing, in fact, got louder, through hyperventilation that he couldn't control, and there were suddenly cold hands upon his face that made him shiver despite himself.

The somewhat familiar voice murmured quietly, “Kurt, just try to breathe normally – we need you to stay quiet. Please, Kurt, stay quiet or they'll hear us.” Kurt tried, and by sheer willpower he succeeded as much as he possibly could. The hoarse, terrible breathing tapered down to a low whistle, and he clenched his teeth together to keep the moaning at bay. He couldn't move his body more than small twitches, and he didn't even attempt to talk again because he knew that he would either start screaming or throwing up.

He had to be quiet, or 'they' would hear them. 'They' meaning the Infected, Kurt supposed, because what else was a threat in this new, unjust world? Kurt couldn't remember who the speaker was except that it was a familiar tone, and for that he just had to trust the speaker. The man knew his name, so Kurt had to trust it. Had to, or he would be alone in this world, damned to becoming like the rest of the Infected to feast on human flesh and blood. Familiar meant that he would be saved from that fate, it meant—

The world as Kurt knew it at that very moment exploded.

The explosion was all light first, yellow and blue and bright white, and it blinded him to the point where he thought his brain was incinerating from the vividness. Then it was the shock wave of sound and fire, and it blew him backwards against the wall. Before he succumbed to unconsciousness for the final time, the heat hit, and he prayed to a god he didn't believe in to spare him and his family from such pain.

* * *

_31 July +00_

The next time he woke up, it was the last time for a while.

He wasn't sure where he was at, but it was dead quiet. He couldn't hear anything, not even the sound of his own heartbeat, and for a brief, wild moment he wondered if he had finally succumbed to the virus. A moment later, the thought was ripped apart because if he was one of the Infected, surely he would've been a mindless cannibal by that point. He didn't feel any unbearable urge to go chomping on someone's entrails, and the pain that was throbbing throughout his body was still very real and _relevant_ , so maybe—

He glanced around, and finally a sound cut through the air around him when the blanket around his body moved from his shifting. He ignored it in favour of taking in his surroundings with a dizzy, cotton-filled head, because in this world it was far more important to be aware than to be distracted by nonsensical things.

He wasn't in the Annette house, that was for sure. The ridiculously massive room was dark and fortified, metal covering windows that were much larger than what had been on Aunt Mildred's house. There wasn't a bed here either, nor the pull-out couch that he had last remembered lying upon; instead the floor was covered in sleeping bags and pallets, a few of which had inhabitants.

These inhabitants were either sleeping or staring at their loved ones as if they were afraid that they'd never see them again. Maybe they wouldn't, but Kurt wasn't one to make assumptions. A few of them were crying, most of them women of all ages, but even that was silent in fear of being heard by things that didn't need to be alerted. It was actually quite remarkable how quiet everything was, since Kurt couldn't even hear them breathing or anything. If he hadn't heard his own blankets shuffle then he would've been convinced that he had gone deaf.

Over by what Kurt figured used to be glass doors but were now planks of metal, he could see a group of men and women with weapons. They seemed to be doing inventory, not making any noise as they counted weapons and ammunition. They kept writing things down on a notepad and continuously passing it around as they took stock, and Kurt blinked slowly as he recognised a few of the weapons. There was the Glock he had loved to practise with, the crossbow that Finn had goofed around with, Burt's shotgun, Jessica's rifle. He wasn't sure what was going on but he knew that wherever his family was, they were safe. They wouldn't have given up their weapons _or_ Kurt so easily.

There was a sudden rustle of movement behind him and fighting a gasp of surprise, he shot around to glance at the newcomer.

He wanted to cry out at the site of a wary-looking Carole Hudson-Hummel and throw his arms around the familiar form of her, but he was so utterly exhausted that he had to settle for a weak smile and reaching his shaky arms out. She looked like Death had spoken to her face-to-face, eyes bloodshot and swollen and skin pale. Kurt was a tad confused as he looked at her, noting with tired eyes that she had the look of someone who had lost a lot of weight in a short period of time – her usual plump features and body had diminished greatly, leaving behind someone who seemed to have too much skin for her body. She looked like she had aged ten years and there was more grey in her hair than he had ever seen or allowed without a dye job.

He opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him quietly with a finger to her lips. She smiled as if to soften the blow of Kurt being silenced, and it looked so painful that Kurt visibly flinched. It dropped off her face as quickly as it came at his reaction, and she just lifted a small memo pad and a pencil. She dropped her eyes to it, picking up the pencil and writing so gently that he could barely hear the scratch it made on the paper itself.

She handed it to him when she was done, and he glanced down at the paper with his burning, itchy eyes. He read silently, ' _How are you feeling, Kurt?_ ' and he eagerly beckoned for the paper and pencil.

He wrote in sloppy handwriting, ' _I'm okay, just tired._ ' Which was a lie, because the pain was enough to make him sweat profusely despite the cool air surrounding him. He continued, ' _Where is everyone? What happened?_ '

She paused, some indescribable emotion crossing her features, before she shakily pulled out a few pieces of paper from her pocket and handed it to him. It was messy, like she had pushed it all out as fast as possible without any conscious effort for grammar or spelling so she could get it off her chest and out of the way as fast as possible.

Probably a good thing too, because what he read...if he had gotten all of the details, he probably would've started screaming.

' _annette's gone … after you lost consciousness we barricaded you and aki downstairs … aki ended up changing a few hours after you lost consciousness … she died kurt, it's not like they said on the news that they were still alive, they're dead just like in the movies … aki bit jess and ended up killing her right there, got a hold of her neck … before we could deal with her she bit you twice more and got leroy too … jess died almost immediately and came back your dad got both of them and leroy … the gas station down the street ended up blowing up and the house got caught in it so we had to leave … it was hard getting you out of there but none of us wanted to leave you behind … we got here, a shelter they've set up in the high school and it's barricaded against the things outside but it's getting pretty bad because we're running out of food and water … everyone else is okay and trying to do their part to make this easier … have to stay quiet because there are a lot of those things out there and we're hoping that they'll move on if they can't smell or hear us and we'll be able to send people out to get supplies … we're so glad you're okay kurt and you're sort of a miracle around here, everyone's talking about how you beat the virus and how there's hope for a cure now_ '

Hope for a cure, sure, but Kurt didn't want to do anything but curl up in a ball and cry.

His family was safe, at least, even though Jessica was gone and Rachel had lost a dad. It was so hard to imagine that they were gone, that just before Kurt had passed out they had been alive and well but all it took was a moment for two good people to die. It felt like just hours ago that Leroy had been curled around Hiram with Rachel happily snug in between then, and Jessica had been kissing Aunt Mildred heatedly and then proceeding to kick arse and take names as she ploughed her way through the Infected outside.

It was _wrong_.

“I survived?” he mouthed, eyes glistening with tears, and she nodded solemnly.

Kurt curled up in her warm arms, silent sobs refusing to stop for everything they had lost.

* * *

His father showed up a few hours later, after what they said was a routine patrol of the school.

Kurt still didn't have the energy to do much more than lie there and allow his father to embrace him in a hug that hurt more than it comforted. Every nerve ending in his body screamed in agony, much too sensitive for such pressure to his skin and muscles, but he didn't say a word. He wasn't sure if it was for his father's sake so he could hold his son or if it was because he was afraid of a scream coming out of his mouth instead of words.

When his dad finally let go, mercifully, he looked at Kurt fitfully, his blue eyes grey with the lack of lighting. His hands twitched in Kurt's direction as if wanting to survey every single cell of his body, to make sure that he was really here and not dead like the others. Maybe that was right, hell if Kurt knew. All Kurt _did_ know was that he was so thankful at that very moment that his father was still alive, right in front of him, and that he wasn't alone. He could've lost his perfect step-mother who still sat vigilantly at Kurt's bedroll, or his tall step-brother that kept giving him water to drink with such a small, genuine smile, or his best friend who had been humming so lowly under her breath to him that it was barely heard.

He could've lost everyone, and even though the two they _had_ lost had been so devastating, he was filled with something so indescribably happy that his family was still together against all odds.

None of them spoke, too worried about being loud. Now that his ears had adjusted to the silence he could hear the banging off in the distance, a low rumble and clanging of noise that came from the Infected that had congregated outside. He couldn't tell by the sound how many there were out there, but it was more than enough to assume that sending out a scouting mission to get supplies and quite possibly more ammunition and weapons would be a bad move on their parts. Kurt had noticed that there were only a few dozen people in the school, perhaps fifty if he was optimistic. Maybe the rest of the survivors were still holed up in their homes, trying to see if they could wait out the storm.

He hoped that what drove off the Infected from the school of Ashland City wasn't people escaping with their families, desperate for food and water.

Was this what it was like all around the world? Were there people out there in Switzerland, France, or Japan, fighting for their lives as they were caged in like animals? Were there people out there, families even, that were taking to the roads for food, shelter, or even human companionship? Surely there were people out there making a stand, trying to secure a border of some sort so they could lead a normal life...perhaps a school like this one, or a mall like they did in the movies, or even in the capital. There had to be people out there trying to group together, for companionship and safety in numbers, trying to set up a home for themselves.

Kurt wasn't naïve enough to assume that the military was out there doing it. Maybe they were, but he wasn't going to ride his hope on that. He was smarter than the people in this very school who were completely convinced that the government would come in to save the day. A government that, just a few months previously, was supposedly out for their weapons and their freedoms by tyranny of 'socialism' and 'dictation'.

It was funny how one's perceptions changed in the face of such horror. The government that they had so despised were now their only lifeline to a semblance of normality. If the President and his staff could see into the minds of their population now.

There was talk about the Centre for Disease Control, about a cure that was supposedly being made. Hopeful looks were constantly thrown in Kurt's direction, which he could understand in a way – if there were people like him out there with natural immunity, then it was logical and safe to assume that maybe the CDC had their hands on a few of them. After all, anyone with brains knew that immunisations and cures came from survivors. The flu always was being manipulated into a vaccine, to be injected into the American population (even though it still made a good chunk of them sick anyway). If there were people with natural antibodies like Kurt, then surely the best scientists in the country were working on saving them all.

Except this infection wasn't influenza. It wasn't even polo or rabies or anything else. It was a monster of a virus, something that apparently _did_ turn the dead back to life through animation of dead cells or whatever. This wasn't something that they knew like the back of their hands, like the flu was. This was going to be complicated, and if they did somehow manage a cure in the future, Kurt was damn sure that it was going to be the _far_ future rather than the near.

For the first time since waking up, he thought about Blaine, Cooper, and Megan. Were they living like they were living now, in some safe house? Were they still in their home, surrounded by the Infected and trapped inside, completely incapable of making it outside for their own food and water? They had been trapped up north for far longer than Kurt and his family had been stuck on Annette and then here; surely they were either gone from their home or barely surviving as it was. Kurt doubted that Anthony had managed his way back, because Ireland was gone and air travel was impossible.

Were they dead?

Kurt didn't want to think about that possibility, but he couldn't help but think about it. If they had run out of food and water despite their stockpile, Cooper would've been hard-pressed to get out fast enough with a nine-year-old and Blaine on his heels. Kurt knew that neither of Megan's brothers would leave her by herself so they could go out and get supplies unless he was terribly desperate, and while Cooper would be faster by himself he was still all alone up there in Dublin. Maybe people had come up after the first wave was over, helping them or giving them support? Somehow Kurt doubted that, but it was better than the alternative, that they were either on the verge of starving or even dead.

Blaine wasn't stupid, far from it, and he would figure it out. If not for Kurt's sake then for Megan's. Blaine, and Cooper for that matter, would do anything for that little girl, and he wouldn't even consider dying until he was absolutely and utterly positive that she was safe and grown and married with two children. And probably even after that.

Kurt ignored the stares of the nameless people inside the gym, accepted the coddling by his family, and tried to hold onto that small, fragile hope.


	6. Five: Anticipation of the Wary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How be? I know it's been a while (it's been a while on all me stories, actually, to be entirely honest, and not just on this account), but while I'm not gonna pop off excuses like everyone else on this damned site, just wanted to say that I've got some of my inspiration back. Then again, I am going through chemo, so you'll have to bear with me on the time constraints. And besides, this is the longest chapter yet (which is kinda sad since I usually tend to average 10,000 words a chapter on every other story I've dabbled on...).
> 
> Meh. Anyway, unbeta'd, like every other chapter. No Sebastian (uh, kinda?). If you're in this story for romance and smex, then you're probably gonna be disappointed really (even though it will come because who would I be to deny myself the opportunity to write steamy Kurtbastian porn?). This is character-driven, and Sebastian's probably not going to come up for another, I dunno, twenty chapters? More? Less? I actually want to make a decent zombie fiction, thank you very much, so it's not going to be focussed around romance and butterflies. Hope you like it at any rate.

Chapter Five  
_Anticipation of the Wary_

_16 August +00_

_Kurt feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up._

_There's someone watching him, someone that he has no inclination to meet, someone that burns a hole into his form as it stands in the middle of the auditorium. He's not sure why he's back here, since Lima's been gone for a long time, but he knows that Blaine's still lost and there's someone staring at him intently enough to frighten him._

_He isn't sure if it's an Infected – he's grown to trust that gut instinct since it has saved his life more often than he'd like to admit – but he knows it is not entirely friendly either. He's dealt with these kinds of people, people who know by feeling that he's wrong somehow, that he's gay, and he's had to defend himself before. He's had to pull the trigger on the living, all because they were trying to take his food or take_ him _, and thank the god Kurt doesn't believe in that his entirely family is gone and can't see him murder._

_His sharp eyes take in every seat, every corner of the auditorium that he used to belt out his heart and pain on. He knows this auditorium more than he knows himself, especially this new self that tries to scratch and claw at his internal morality that's been dead since the world ended. He knows to glance at that little crevice towards the stairs that could hide three people comfortably, even though he can't really see inside the blackness. He knows to look at the blind-spot besides the dividers, knows to look at the hole behind the curtains._

_He doesn't leave the stage to go check some of the other hiding spots, but he's fine with that. There's not really a lot they can do from that distance except shoot him, and if they miss his head then it won't matter because Kurt's layered in the most unappealing bulletproof gear he can find. It keeps the freaks from staring too long if he finds a live one, makes him look like a badarse to the people who want to take his possessions. If they shoot him in the head, something the rest of the human race has grown very good at as they try to survive the cruel new world, they will kill him on the spot. However, as much as Kurt has fought and killed and destroyed to stay alive, he's not entirely sure if he really does want to live anyway._

_Besides, he's bound to die in this new world. He's just waiting on the moment where it all finally ends, in limbo, because he's too much of a coward to put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger._

_He calms down his breathing, stills his limbs, and lays his hand casually on the weapon that is holstered on his hip like some new age cowboy in the land of the dead. The cool metal feels comfortable in his hand, an old friend that's been with him since the fall of humanity, and it soothes the ball of dread that he feels each and every time he's put into a situation that resembles his current one._

_Then there is movement. From nowhere, literally_ nowhere, _a horde meets him, streaming into the auditorium and down the stairs. Faces that he knows, of students of McKinley and the baristas at the Lima Bean, of customers at the tyre shop and the homeless guy that always used to ask Kurt for shoes. Faces that fill him with a bittersweet sadness like Azimio Adams and Rick “The Stick” Nelson, faces that tear him to pieces like Mercedes and Rachel, faces that hurt more than life itself like his father and Carole. He sees Megan and Blaine, and it doesn't hurt as badly as seeing his father with no life in his eyes but it hurts enough that he falls to his knees, sobbing without any hope left._

 _If he dies like this, if he dies by their hands and their teeth and their nails, then at least he'll be with the people he loves. He'll be back with his father, with Blaine by his side, and so what if he doesn't have a mind? So what if he can't hold Blaine in his arms, or talk to his father one last time? So what if he loses out on all of his hopes and dreams and life itself – what life does he have without these people anyway? These people_ are _his life, and he can't live in a world that doesn't have them in it._

_They surround him as if moving in molasses, giving Kurt enough time to run away if he so chooses, but he can't even get up off his knees, can't stop weeping for all that is lost. He doesn't want to live any more, doesn't want to survive as this bitter, jaded human being that he has become. His life has been over for a long time, but seeing it in the flesh is the cataclysm. He can't survive like this, can't keep moving on, and he doesn't want to._

_Then a familiar voice says, “Get up.”_

No _, Kurt thinks absently, because he wants to_ die _so he can be with his family and friends and even the people he hates. He's so tired of_ living _like this, of being scared and angry and desperate. He's tired of life, and he just wants it to end._

 _“Get up,” the voice says again, and when Kurt blinks there's suddenly a group of people around him. People who are alive, who don't want to take his things or his guns or his body. He sees the strangest faces, people that he had never expected to ever help him let alone give him the time of day to breathe. He sees Anthony Anderson, as tall and regal as ever, with Cooper at his side, both of them trying to force him standing. He sees Dave Karofsky, eyes glittering in the overhead lights as he keeps a long rifle aimed at the Infected. He sees Sue Sylvester, a long sword holstered on her back and a fucking_ M16 _of all things in her hands, because of course she would have an automatic/semi rifle on her person during the zombie fucking apocalypse._

_Right in front of him is Sebastian Smythe._

_“Get up right now, you goddamn fairy, or I swear to God I'll drag you out of here myself,” Sebastian says, green eyes angry and determined._

_Kurt stands._

* * *

Kurt woke up with a gasp.

He quickly put a hand over his mouth to stifle any other sounds that he could make, but after his dream he found that the only thing coming out of his mouth was erratic breathing. This, in itself, wasn't anything to fuss over, since it was barely heard behind the hand, so he felt safe in knowing that he wasn't scaring the people around him.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and it took a lot of self-restraint to not jump at the sudden touch. He turned wide eyes towards the individual in question and was relieved to see a very-much-alive Finn Hudson crouching in front of him, his own wide eyes speaking more of concern than Kurt's obvious startling.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, since the group had decided that light whispers weren't going to attract the Infected outside, laying a hand upon his shoulder more firmly now that Kurt was aware of his presence.

Kurt simply nodded and dropped his hand, going for as nonchalant as possible considering the circumstances. His breathing wasn't back to normal but it was close enough where he didn't feel embarrassed or concerned about it, so he relaxed a little against Finn's hand.

Kurt had been healing steadily for the past five-and-a-half weeks in the gymnasium, growing continuously more antsy as they wasted away inside. The food and water situation was getting to the point where a group would have to be sent out into Ashland City for supplies or people would start dying. They hadn't had any more newcomers since Kurt's family had joined – which Kurt wasn't sure he should feel thankful for since that meant most of the town's population was either dead or fighting for their lives, but it also meant more food and water for them to pilfer – but they were seriously running low on provisions. They didn't dare turn on the taps to see if water would flow, because gradually the Infected had started slipping away for scents that were fresh and they didn't want to chance the Infected growing interested again. After all, they couldn't smell through walls of solid brick and metal, so they were going for meat that still seemingly breathed.

Kurt stood silently, much better with it now that he had been dealing with the heavy cast upon his arm. Even Finn, loud and heavy-footed Finn, was silent as a bat nowadays, because survival depended on it.

He ignored Finn's inquisitive look, smiling lightly at his step-brother to appease him. Dreams were dreams, and it wasn't anything to fuss about, so he faked his ease and Finn seemed to buy it. He probably always would, and for that Kurt was thankful. At least everything hadn't changed since the world had gone to hell and back.

He grabbed a baseball bat next to his little nest of blankets as well as some baby wipes and a change of clothes before he made his way out of the propped double doors of the gymnasium towards the restrooms. They didn't use them but there were a few people that had graciously picked up the job of dealing with every day human biological functions. Some people used the facilities that the 'janitors' provided, but most of them did their business either in the drainage pipe that got rid of it for them or cleaned out their pans themselves.

Kurt bypassed the restrooms (and the stench) and entered into a classroom further down the hallway.

The windows were all boarded up, but since it was right upon the outside of the building, he could clearly hear the groans and banging that came from the outside. From the Infected. He was tempted, not for the first time, to take a peek out of the small cracks of the boards, see what was really causing the shadows and the noise, but he forced himself to the floor.

It was the first time in ages he had ever _really_ made an effort to get into shape. There was a difference between eating healthy while going to the gym twice a week and knowing that not being strong could cost him his life. So on the cold, hard linoleum floor, he began doing sit-ups, squats, legs – anything that could increase his stamina and strength.

He wasn't stupid. He knew that when they got desperate, when the food and water got so low that they would die if they stayed any longer, he would be one of the first to be volunteered for the run. Broken arm or not, he had survived two attacks and had fought off the infection, so who better to risk their life then someone who could counteract the sickness? It was a solid plan, and Kurt was more than ready to do it, because he wasn't going to let other people risk their lives if he was twice as likely to survive.

The workouts would intensify when Kurt got his arm back, which would hopefully be within the week, but for now he was just preparing himself. He needed to be ready for the call that a party needed to be sent out. There was no way in hell that he was going to be left behind even if he had the broken arm. He could shoot since he still had manoeuvrability in his fingers, and the cast would be one less place they could bite him. Sure he wouldn't be able to carry as much but that was why others would join him, and everything would work out.

There were women and children in the school, after all, not to mention his family, and he would do anything for them.

An hour later, completely exhausted and covered in a sheen of sweat, he laid on the floor and listened to the moans of the Infected. They hadn't increased in number since his workout had started, which was most definitely a good sign that they hadn't heard his heavy breathing and movements over their own ruckus, and he simply listened to them. He knew that he should've been a bit more freaked out by the sounds, but familiarisation wasn't a bad thing. He needed to be able to differentiate between Infected and human beings, just in case they came across some. He didn't want to accidentally shoot someone not Infected just because of adrenaline and fear, and listening to their sounds would surely help with that.

He forced himself up after a while, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He peeled off the plain white t-shirt, soaked through with sweat and quickly stripped off his trousers, opening the baby wipes and pulling out a few. He wished that there was a _shower_ , with his numerous bath products that he could spoil himself with. He wished that he could wash his face or thoroughly clean every part of his body, but life didn't work that way any more and he used the baby wipes to scrub himself as clean as he could hope for.

He was gaining a bit of definition, even he could see that. He had started merely four days after waking up from his long, sick-induced sleep, mostly because he wanted to be useful but somewhat because he was bored out of his mind. Perhaps it had been a bit reckless, but he hadn't started off like a champion or anything, and besides, he was vaguely impressed with the beginning results.

He didn't have a huge six pack or anything, but there was the start of one in his abdomen, to his amusement. His legs, which had always been toned and strong, were thicker, and not in a pear-like way. It was actually kind of awesome, because while he was still lean and rather thin for a guy, he was liking the look of the hard work he forced his body through twice a day.

He couldn't _wait_ to start on his arms (maybe a bit because he just wanted the cast off, since there was this irritating itch on his elbow that was driving him insane). His arms had already been rather defined before the outbreak, but he wanted arms that could've thrown that fucking Infected off of his body back on Annette Drive.

He dressed himself again, not even thinking about what the Glee club's reactions would be to his style at the moment. In the beginning he had scrunched his nose at the boring, too-long jeans and the plain t-shirts but now he barely even noticed. He didn't want to sully any designers with his body anyway, since he hadn't had a proper bath in five-and-a-half weeks.

He padded his way to the gymnasium again, yet again with no shoes since it was quieter, and quickly found his family in their small little corner of the space. Finn and Rachel were holding hands and sitting with each other, Finn's arms tightly around his fiancée as they hummed to each other quietly. Hiram and Aunt Mildred were playing a game of cards, neither one of them really into it but knowing that doing nothing was even worse. Burt and Carole held hands and whispered gently to one another, in their own little world for a small moment.

All of them were thinner, more ragged. Just like Kurt, despite what he was trying to accomplish with his body. All of them were fucking breaking from all of this, and it was only going to get worse if their track record held and they ran out of sustenance.

Kurt threw them a wave with his good hand as he approached them, and Rachel smiled at him. It wasn't as bright as it had been before the outbreak, but he appreciated it just the same. It was genuine at least, instead of distorted and wrong like Hiram's and Aunt Mildred's were, and it lifted his spirits every time she smiled in response to whatever caught her fancy. It was kind of like having the old Rachel back, albeit without the shrieking and the constant singing and the prima donna thing she liked to pull.

Not that Kurt had any room to talk, but that was beside the point.

Carole and Burt whispered to each other for a moment before she beckoned him closer, holding up a pair of cutting pliers and a smile on her face. Another genuine one that Kurt loved to see, because in these circumstances they were few and far between. Kurt smiled back widely, because he knew what _that_ scissor-like contraption was used for, and he slid forward silently, offering up the cast.

“Normally,” Carole whispered as everyone gathered around, “I would keep this on longer to be on the safe side, since I don't have an x-ray to determine if it's completely healed. But Burt has assured me that you're a fast healer and that it'll be fine as long as it doesn't get stressed. So Kurt, I'm warning you that you could seriously damage your arm for the rest of your life if you don't go easy on it. You'll regret it if you don't take it easy.”

Kurt nodded enthusiastically, letting Carole grasp the thick, decorated cast and begin tenderly cutting the plaster away. The smell, once it started coming off, was rather rank due to not being washed even poorly, but Kurt was more concerned with the itch he was finally going to be able to scratch at after weeks of ire.

It took a while for her to do it safely, but each bit of fresh air that touched his newly exposed skin was a delight. He hadn't realised how _hot_ the damn thing had been until she was peeling it away and unwrapping the gauze around it gingerly, finally letting his skin breathe as she began inspecting the arm for any lingering damage. Thankfully, the arm seemed to be alright, not deformed or the sort – it had set rather nicely and Kurt couldn't tell the difference from one arm and the other except that one was still slightly damp and almost too soft for the touch. Simply put, it was the way skin worked after soaking too long in either bathwater or, in this case, his own sweat: like it would rip with the slightest effort, almost spongy-like.

Naturally, the first thing he did was itch his elbow and sigh in contentment.

Then, after the more pressing matter at that moment had been resolved, he hesitantly moved his fingers, then his wrist, and then bent his elbow. It was a bit stiff from being in one position for so long but there was no lingering pain or even soreness whatsoever, and Kurt _grinned_ in excitement. He moved it around a bit, using his other hand to gently prod at the arm to see if the bone was repaired and was content to find that he didn't feel anything wrong with it.

Clearly Carole didn't either, and everyone around them began laughing quietly when Kurt playfully scrunched up his nose and said, “Ew, gross. I need a bubble bath to get rid of the smell.”

“At least it's healed, but don't go stressing it out—” started Carole, but Kurt was already murmuring placations and prodding Finn and Rachel to join him in a leisurely stroll around the school.

With weapons of the baseball bat/tire wrench variety, of course.

* * *

“What's the first thing you would do if the world randomly went back to normal?” asked Rachel.

Finn immediately said quietly, “I would scarf down a meat lover's pizza with hot peppers and a cold Coke while playing a game of Call of Duty with Puck and Sam.”

Kurt rolled his eyes languidly. Still fiddling with his arm, Kurt pondered and then replied with no shame, “I would take a long, hot shower with Blaine.”

Finn's face scrunched up and he groaned, “Gross, dude.”

Kurt didn't even have the heart to correct the epithet. The normality of it was soothing.

Rachel, on the other hand, was amused. “I hear you Kurt,” she whispered with a shy glance at Finn, who was completely oblivious. “I would take a long, hot shower and sing as loudly as I could until Finn finished his pizza and game and came to shower with me.”

Finn got that silly dopey smile on his face, all of Kurt's previous insinuation of man-sex in the shower completely forgotten. Kurt groaned in response and murmured with repulsion, “I really don't need to hear about your sex life, Rachel. I can take a lot, but that I just can't handle.”

“Oh Kurt, don't be such a prima donna,” she said with a subdued chuckle. They were all in one of the science classrooms to the back end of the building, and surprisingly enough there wasn't any banging on these particular rooms, hence their selection of said room. They were stretched out on the floor, their chosen weapons laid within arm's reach in case something did happen, and pressed against each other without trepidation. The closeness was comfortable in the new times, and they were drawn to it like moths to a flame. They were a family now, having seen death and gore and sickness with each other, and they weren't going to separate without a fight.

They laid there in comfortable silence for what seemed like hours, but surely was only a handful of minutes, before Kurt asked lightly, “Will you guys tell Carole if I test out my arm with a few push-ups?”

“Kurt, you shouldn't do that,” admonished Rachel.

Finn simply beamed. “Cool, Kurt. Wanna see who can do the most?”

“Well it's _obviously_ going to be you, Finn Hudson,” complained Kurt. “You haven't had your arm in a damn cast for six weeks. Cut me some slack, because I don't want to strain myself. Carole's right – I kind of need my arm.”

They all ignored the thick curl of foreboding at that last sentence, and Rachel, obviously wanting to dissolve the heavy atmosphere, said, “Oh all right, but don't over-work anything. You heard what Carole said. And no one tells since we'll all get in trouble.”

Finn and Kurt flipped to their stomachs and looked at Rachel expectantly, in which she sighed and said, “On your mark...get set...go.”

Kurt pushed himself up, not paying attention to Finn as he pumped them out like a fiend, and focussed on his arm. Even the slightest twinge of discomfort would be the cue for him to stop, but as he began slowly doing push-ups, he felt a small smirk pop onto his lips. He had lost a bit of strength he had managed to obtain during high school physical education (which had been pretty good, strangely enough) and his own treks at the Lima gym, but just the fact that he _could_ do them and start building up his arms was enough to make his smirk morph into a full, satisfied grin.

He managed about twenty before a small pinch began in his forearm, and he immediately stopped and said, “Alright, that's enough for me. How many is Finn at?”

Rachel huffed without much irritation, since she was probably watching her fiancé push himself with a lustful glance, and replied, “Forty-nine...fifty...fifty-one. You catch the drift. How's the arm?”

“Oh it's fine,” he said truthfully, letting the grin fall off his face as he played with his arm yet again instead of looking at his step-brother work out. Mostly, he just didn't want to feel inferior and challenge himself to do more, which wouldn't have been beneficial having just gotten his arm back, but there was a slight wariness that Rachel would take it as a recurrence of his stupid crush from years ago. “I'm really impressed with it actually.”

“That's good,” she said, clearly happy for him, and she scooted into his arms. A few months ago, he would've scoffed and given her a hesitant hug, but things had changed and he drew her close without a thought otherwise. He buried his nose in her hair, which smelt like hand soap and simply Rachel, and closed his eyes. For a long moment he just revelled in the moment, being with his family, and then smiled lightly when Finn burrowed towards them as well, smelling all musky and kind of gross but also just like himself.

Nothing like the apocalypse to bring a family together, that was for sure.

It was the last time he would see one of them alive.

* * *

“We don't have a choice,” said Kurt.

It had come rather suddenly. He had only gotten two hours of sleep – if his watch was still trustworthy – before he had snapped awake at the dream. He hadn't been able to figure out why the almost-nightmare kept plaguing him, full of his loved ones dead and surrounded by figures like Sue Sylvester and, God forbid, Sebastian Smythe, but he had forced it to the back of his mind and left Rachel and Finn to their own unconsciousness.

Upon journeying to the gymnasium, he had found all of the adults arguing in hisses, clearly trying to stay quiet as tempers ran high. He had advanced on them, knowing that he would be privy to their conversation as the leader of the group, one Daniel Yates, had pretty much told Kurt that he would be their number one in case they ever had to go outside.

Obviously, that was what the arguing was about, so without further ado he had weaselled his way into the crowd of twenty-or-so people and steadied himself to the left of his father.

The food and water situation was too dire for them to not take action, and Kurt was volunteered for one of the lead positions. He was supposedly good with a gun and was pretty quick, not to mention immune to the infection, so he was prime for picking. And despite the fact that he had just gotten off his cast, he was more than ready.

There was a chance that he would die out there, because infection was different than being eaten alive or an accident occurring. But the idea of the wind in his hair, getting out of the school if only for a few hours, saving lives by getting sustenance...he was more than ready indeed. He wanted to get out there and _do_ something that made a difference.

“You are _not_ going out there alone, Kurt!” exclaimed Burt as loud as he dared in response to Kurt's previous statement, but there was a defeated look in his eye and Kurt knew that he had won. Burt wasn't a strong, fast man and had suffered a heart attack – if anyone was going to stay behind to look after the remainder of the survivors, then he was a good choice. He was a diplomat, a Congressman that a few people recognised vaguely, not a fighter.

Not that Kurt was really a fighter but he was going to learn how to be. He had always been a fast learner.

“There are fourteen other people with me. Six of them are military or ex-military and one is a police officer. I'll be fine, Dad, don't worry so much. It's not good for your heart.”

A shadow of a smile graced Burt's lips inside of that scraggly beard, but it was gone as fleetingly as it had appeared. “God Kurt, the last time I let you out there, you almost died, while Jess and Leroy _did_ die. I don't want you to get hurt again just because I'm not stubborn enough to keep you here with me.”

There were tears in Burt's red eyes and Kurt felt his own glasz eyes start to water in return. He grasped his father tightly and pulled him close, both of them burying their faces in the other's shoulder, and Kurt whispered, “Oh Dad, I'm so sorry. But I have to do this. If I get hurt by one of those things, it isn't going to infect me like it will the people that go in my place. This is my chance to help a lot of people just because I've been lucky enough to have this immunity, and I'm not letting that chance go to waste. You have to let me go, Dad.”

Burt sniffled and pulled away, holding him by the shoulders an arm's length away. With a strong, sturdy voice, Burt declared quietly, “I know. And besides, you're an adult now. I can't make you do anything, even if I would want you to.”

Kurt shot off a grin, even if it was a bit shaky in nerves of his new mission of sorts. “I won't let you down, Dad,” he said confidently, and then pulled his dad into another hug, not willing to let go until the rest of them were ready to arm and go.

He quickly hugged Carole, his Aunt Mildred, and even Hiram, wondering if he should've woken up Finn and Rachel to say goodbye. If something did happen out there and he wasn't able to return, he wanted to remember their faces.

But then again, he remembered both of of them, curled together on the floor of a dimly lit science classroom in Ashland City, Tennessee, with him right in the middle, relishing in the fact that they were together and alive. He didn't want his potential last memories of them to be Rachel crying in fear and Finn trying to beg him from going out again.

He didn't want their last memories of him to be a fake persona of confidence and ease when he wanted nothing more than to fall upon the ground let them hold him until the world righted itself again.

He turned away and began preparing himself for his first (conscious) step outside in nearly two months.

* * *

He felt like a bundle of nerves as he stowed extra magazines and shells on his person.

He had his Glock on him, as well as a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He was familiar with it simply through his father, for obvious reasons, and it was a comfortable weight on his back. He also had a tiny .40 calibre Taurus slim on him just in case, something that he stowed with two extra eight-shell clips into a leg holster since it was a tiny handgun made for concealment and wouldn't get in the way. The Glock was put into the shoulder holster, the magazines for that weapon in thick, zipped up satchels connecting sturdily to his belt. His back satchel for the shotgun shells, the one on his right hip for the Glock magazines.

He also had three knives stashed – a small one in the leg holster, another strapped onto his belt that was a good foot long and shouldn't have been called a knife really, and another shoved into the pocket of his jeans – while he carried his baseball bat. The guns were only as a means to an end, since the noise attracted the Infected and they didn't want to unnecessarily waste ammunition, so a baseball bat and a few knives would hopefully be enough.

Then again, the first thing they were going to do was get out of the school and then make a ruckus without shooting off any weapons, mostly so they could get the Infected off of the school and perhaps think it was abandoned of a stewing meal.

They were going to head out of the west entrance of the school, where only a few of the Infected had congregated since the survivors had all apparently tumbled in through the front entrance since the beginning. They would kill those if they had to, but they were going to make a run for it while making enough noise to attract only those closest to the school. That way, if they managed to get away without a hitch, then it wouldn't be as hard to get the food and water into the school without worrying about an Infected getting in, endangering all of the helpless people inside.

They were taking a good portion of the weapons, after all.

It was a solid plan, if they could get away with it. Getting off the scent of the Infected safely after causing a distraction was going to be the tough part, as well as lugging pounds upon pounds of food and water halfway across town as they avoided the major parts of Ashland City. Hopefully a lot of the Infected had migrated the hundred or so miles to Nashville, which had a bigger population (and how sick was he that such a thought was fanciful to him?), and they wouldn't have to deal with a gigantic horde.

They all had hand-held radios, with a range of twenty miles give-or-take and set to the same dial, which had been supplied by one of the military men that had come from Arnold Air Force Base down south. They all had one, and the rest of them were either left off or being divided amongst family and friends as they listened for updates on the situation.

They stood at the back entrance, all fourteen of them breathing deeply in preparation. The ones that still had loved ones said a last goodbye, just in case, and Kurt followed suit. He asked Carole and Hiram to tell Finn and Rachel that he loved them, and that he'd be back soon with the necessities. He cried a little, wiped the tears from his eyes, and then retreated from his family. They disappeared behind the first set of doors, which were left unlocked for the moment, and one volunteer followed them to lock the outer door behind them. She would wait until she got the signal on her own personal radio that they were back, and then would let them in quickly and finally lock the door behind them all from the horrors outside.

Strangely, without a sound, the heavy doors leading to the fields were unlocked and pushed open, ominous clouds mercifully blocking the brilliant sun from the eyes of men and women who hadn't seen the sun in all its glory for at least a month.

Kurt breathed.


	7. Six: Over the Bodies and Through the Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Um. Yeah. Sorry. Yeah. Whatever.
> 
> Okay, so I'm sorta back. Trying to update everything all at once is kind of daunting but I'm managing. A bit shorter than my usual average for this story, but meh. This is unbeta'd. Fuck disclaimers with a burning hot curling iron. I love tea. The end.

Chapter Six  
_Over the Bodies and Through the Roads_

_16 August +00_

Despite not being able to see at one hundred per-cent, they moved forward.

Weapons at the ready, blinking rapidly to get their eyes focussed, they inched forward and heard the door quietly shut behind them, locking once they were all filtered out. Kurt's eyes, watering slightly, took in everything he could as quickly as possible, noting that two Infected were about five hundred metres away and closing fast. Judging by the lack of mutual groans, they were the only two that had spotted the fresh meat, and Kurt immediately stepped forward.

Vowing to himself to take a moment later and find a fucking silencer, he raised his baseball bat higher and strode forward, a military man named Cunningham following with his crowbar. Almost simultaneously, the two of them bashed at the two Infected, Kurt's heart beating so rapidly with fear that it felt about ready to fly out of his chest. There was a dull thunk and a loud crack when both of them went down, Kurt's clearly not incapacitated but Cunningham's out for the count. Kurt swung his bat again, this time making the entire Infected's body fall to the side as he finally stopped trying to get up.

Breathing heavily, Kurt looked at Cunningham and gave a tight smile. An equally tight smile was returned.

“Do we really need to attract the attention of the others?” asked a woman named Danielle in a whisper. She pushed her hair out of her eyes absently and said, “This entire side of the building is clear, so maybe it wouldn't be a good thing to attract the attention of everything in this area.”

“What if it doesn't stay open for long?” asked Yates, frowning. Kurt almost wanted to join his frown because spontaneous changes of plans were not exactly a good thing, but Danielle had a point. Drawing attention to themselves was much more dangerous since there weren't any threats in the area, because then they wouldn't have the added terror of getting a few dozen dead cannibals off their trails. This way, they would simply have to get the food, water, and whatever else they could find, and then high-tail it back to the school via map (or memory, in the case of the locals, who were the guides).

“If there is interference when we get back, we can cause a distraction then,” Kurt said roughly, eyes still shooting all over the landscape for the Infected. He didn't like being out in the open. “If need be, we could even use guns – it's safe to assume by this point that they don't stay in the general area for long if they have to feed, so they'll move on after a while.”

Yates didn't look very convinced but he nodded and said, “Alright. Break off into your groups and don't use the radios unless absolutely necessary. Meet up in an hour in this field and don't get here too soon. If you're going to be late, make sure we know about it, got that?”

A unanimous mutter of agreement rumbled through the group and then they all split up, Kurt heading off with Cunningham and a local barber named Steve Zewinsky. Following Zewinsky, the three of them took off in the direction of their target, a medium-sized grocery store and pharmacy called Mark's General roughly a mile away.

Sure, all of the possible supplies had probably been confiscated by the pre-infection craze and various pilferers when the Infected showed up, but it was worth a shot. Even the littlest things were beneficial in some way. Kurt figured that they would probably have to raid the homes of the dead to get anything worth the trip, like water and food and meds, but it was best to stick to the bigger areas of familiarity first. Just in case.

They walked through lawns and brush and thick clumps of trees with multicoloured leaves, staying off the roads if entirely possible and keeping a sharp eye out for any threats. There were a few Infected that they seen around a few homes in Ashland, probably indicating that there were living people inside that had made noise, but the trio bypassed them. There were more important things to worry about, like food and water. There was the possibility that there were starving people in those homes, but Kurt's priority was his family first, and that wasn't going to change.

He made a note to ask about sending out rescue parties, if not for being humanitarian then for the potential supplies the survivors would have. There was no telling what kind of goodies they were hiding that were gone from Ashland otherwise, like water, ammunition, or medical supplies that they desperately needed.

They crept closer and closer to the general store, staying lower to the ground and hidden in foliage due to arriving in the business downtown of Ashland City. There were more Infected around, maybe because of people pilfering and the Infected responding, and there were a lot more dead bodies.

Kurt forced the bile down.

They had had weeks, months even, to prepare for the infection. They had known so much more about said infection than the Europeans did, because in the United States they had had that warning. No matter what one listened to on the radio or watched on the television, all of the reports had been the same: _to survive, you must stay indoors, be as quiet as possible, and if you get infected quarantine yourself immediately._

Why hadn't people fucking _listened_?

There were so many dead bodies littering the main street through downtown Ashland City, Tennessee. Men, women...children, torn to shreds and covered in blackened blood as they began to decay into the tarmac. Some with holes or objects in their heads, signalling that they had been infected, and some that had simply just died in another way.

One little girl had clearly been ran over, half of her body squished into the concrete, but she hadn't died from the impact. Her legs and stomach gone, the little blonde girl had been infected when she had been partially devoured before 'death', and now she crawled toward them, face caved in and intestines trailing behind her, snarling as her strangely cloudy eyes focussed on Cunningham.

“My God,” Zewinsky breathed. “That's Jane MacIntyre's little girl Bethany. I'd recognise her anywhere because of that hair of hers.”

The little girl, Bethany, crawled towards them, spittle and darkening blood dripping from her mouth as she hissed and tried to bite the air that carried their scent. Her hair was a tangled, dirty mess around her face, a face that perhaps once been cherubic but was now darkened and blotchy and covered in blood and sunken in. Kurt could see the pieces of flesh that had been ripped from her arms, neck, face, and every other part of her, and he could even see her bones from her ribs.

From beside them, Zewinsky gagged and then retched, a horribly violent sound.

Kurt wanted to snap at the idiot for making such a racket, which would surely attract all of the other Infected in the area, but he couldn't take his eyes off the child. She couldn't have been more than ten or eleven, much too young to be all but dead as she dragged her body with her wasted arms, snapping her jaws at the temptation of her food so close.

She should have been with Jane MacIntyre, her mother, sitting at the table eating some goofy little peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a cool glass of milk. She should have been with her friends outside, complaining about the heat and the fact that school had just started up, so they couldn't play in the woods outside. She should have been laughing and talking and making a fuss like all children did, maybe singing a clear, high little tune about magical kingdoms and video games coming to life.

Everything was so wrong.

Kurt lifted his bat.

“No!” exclaimed Zewinsky. Loudly. Way too loudly. “You can't do that! If you're immune then maybe we can save her! Her mother's in the fucking school for chrissakes! You can't kill her!”

“Shut the fuck up,” hissed Cunningham, grasping the man around the shoulders and pressing a hand against Zewinsky's mouth in order to stop the man's yelling. “You're going to get us all killed!”

“She's already dead, Steve,” said Kurt, not looking back towards Zewinsky lest he would lose his nerve to kill the little girl and put her out of her misery. “Her lower body is _gone_...how d'you expect her to survive even if a cure _is_ manufactured?” There were hoarse growling sounds and Kurt could clearly hear shuffling feet that were headed in their direction, no doubt attracted to Zewinsky's loud protests. He couldn't see any of the Infected in their little corner of Main Street but it clearly wasn't going to stay that way for long, so Kurt lifted his bat higher and walked shakily to Bethany MacIntyre.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered to the infected child, and then with all of his strength bashed the baseball bat down as hard as he could against Bethany's sunken head.

It caved in immediately with a sickening noise, half of the girl's head turning to gristle and becoming one with the tarmac. Blackened blood and bits of brain matter flew every which way, including onto Kurt's black running shoes, and Kurt instantly convulsed upright, his stomach rolling and throat burning. The vomit came up and he turned to the side, trying to avoid hitting the body of Bethany out of simple respect, and emptied the meagre meal he had consumed an hour previously. Tears pooled out of his eyes, a mixture of the force of his heaving and the fact that he had killed the child, even though she had been dead a long while back when the infection had consumed her.

He didn't even take the time to spit when it stopped, turning around and grunting at the two others. They all ran fast, avoiding the traffic and bodies while keeping their feet light, Kurt and Cunningham leading since Zewinsky was useless, practically being dragged by Cunningham as he blankly stared into space in shock. Kurt's entire body was shaking, trying to throw up again but Kurt forced it down, because he could hear the Infected closing in on them even if he couldn't see them and he was _not_ going to get into a bad situation with two other healthy, innocent people.

The general store was a few blocks ahead, and they happened to reach it before the Infected came onto the street. The walls were solid planes of glass, bad news if they were caught, and the door was already broken in, shattered glass spilling onto the sidewalk. Kurt ignored that with a twinge of apprehension and motioned urgently for them to get inside the store and off the streets. He watched them slink their way into the broken lower plane of glass and eagerly followed suit once they were both through, slipping sideways inside so he could keep an eye on the road.

Then he gasped for breath as quietly as he could, tasting the sourness of the vomit in his mouth and his body covered in a cold sweat, his mind playing over and over how that little girl's head had crushed immediately upon impact. Kurt had killed an Infected before, not even fifteen minutes previously, but it was just _different_. Maybe that was foolish, because she had been just as infected as the other one, but still. She had been a child once, and he had bashed her head open with a baseball bat. There was blood and brain matter on his fucking _shoes_ for fuck's sake.

“Breathe, kid,” whispered Cunningham, a warm hand laying itself on Kurt's back steadily. It was comforting almost, the touch of a man that breathed and lived, and Kurt's breathing stabilised rather quickly. His body settled from the shudders, his stomach eased its sickening rolling, his hands steadied the bat in his hand, his heart stopped beating so frantically, and he finally hacked up a bit and spit into a nearby bin.

Then he finally took in his surroundings.

There wasn't a lot left, that was for damn sure. The shelves had clearly been ransacked for most of the non-perishables and water, if not all of it, and Kurt frowned at the sight. He had been expecting it, but he still felt his heart drop into his stomach.

Absently, he reached out and grabbed a packet of gum, opening it swiftly and popping a stick in his mouth without even taking a second to think about if it was stealing. They were here to steal anyway, so he didn't care to bog his mind down with unnecessary bullshit. Besides, it wasn't as good as brushing his teeth, but it was better than letting the taste linger and sour.

“Alright,” Kurt said hoarsely, eyes flicking to the street as movement caught his eye, “I'm going to stay by the door here to make sure that nothing gets in here to take us by surprise. There are some of those things finally on the streets, so we should try to find another way out if possible.”

“Definitely a good idea,” whispered Cunningham. “We'll do a sweep, make sure nothing else is in here with us. Then the two of us will search for anything we can get out hands on, fill up our packs as much as possible, and then find another exit. If we have to, we can make a run for it, but I'd rather not.”

“All of the food and water is gone, from what I can see,” said Kurt, spitting saliva and the gum thickly onto the linoleum floor this time without thinking, “but simple supplies for keeping ourselves clean and healthy is worth it too. We'll all get sick otherwise and people didn't think about that sort of stuff, so there might be enough for our group to use.”

“C'mon Zewinsky,” mumbled Cunningham. “You do the left and I'll do the right, and then we'll meet up back here in twenty, alright?”

The barber nodded as if his head had been covered in molasses, and then they both lumbered off quietly, weapons raised and eyes flicking back and forth through the aisles for any enemies. Zewinsky was shaking and Kurt felt a stab of fear at the idea of him being so useless, because all it would take was one small distraction and all three of them could die for it. His body ached to follow behind instead of staying hidden beside the hole in the door, even though he knew that where he was was the most ideal place for him. There were more of the Infected outside and he was more likely to survive than the others should they break in.

It wasn't very comforting though.

Popping yet another piece of gum in his mouth, he kept his eyes on the Infected that were starting to creep about outside, their bodies covered in blood and bites and dirt. They stumbled around, jaws snapping as they bit the air for their scents, cloudy eyes searching for the source of the loud noises they had heard. Kurt huddled in on himself as he squatted down, one hand on the handle of the bat and the other on the stock of the Glock, not ready to take any chances. The Infected were clearly still looking for them, and Kurt felt safer knowing that their location hadn't been identified. The wind, as an added bit of luck, was blowing the scent of the Infected inside of the grocer's instead of the other way around, so they wouldn't be smelt with the crosswind.

Glancing up and down the street once more, Kurt turned his head and tried to catch sight of one of his comrades. Zewinsky was quietly putting something in his backpack that looked like deodorant, which Kurt was definitely pleased to note, but Cunningham was nowhere to be seen. He didn't dare call out for him, considering the ghastly creatures outside, but it was hard not to. His throat itched to ask for Cunningham's whereabouts, to the point where Kurt swallowed thickly, grimacing slightly at the taste of vomit mixed with mint.

He hoped that Zewinsky picked up some toothpaste while he was at it, since the stock at the school was running low.

Time seemed to drag by slower by the second, but Kurt chanced a quick look at his watch and noted that they only had twenty minutes before they would have to meet the others. With the Infected outside, not many but enough to pose a problem, they were going to need every second in order to get out of there, especially if they were going to be bogged down with supplies.

Taking the initiative, Kurt waved frantically at Zewinsky, who glanced up with a violent jump. Thankfully he didn't knock anything over in his shock, instead grasping the left side of his chest and then shaking himself visibly before heading towards Kurt's position. When the balding man reached him, Kurt muttered, “Go find Cunningham. We've gotta move or we're not going to make the deadline. I'd prefer to not be left out here, you know what I mean?”

Zewinsky didn't need to be told twice, nodding enthusiastically and setting his pack down next to Kurt. The man took off, moving quickly without the added weight of the pack, which Kurt looked at curiously and opened. There was all kinds of toiletries – including toothpaste and extra toothbrushes, to Kurt's immense relief – as well as a few other things. He was actually kind of surprised to notice that he had found trail mixes and even some canned foods, which Kurt immediately took out and placed in his own pack. The faster the older man could move the better, and Kurt was stronger than him. He could deal with the extra weight better than Zewinsky could.

He stood up quickly and strode to the check-out counters, keeping an eye on the door while he piled gum, some sweets for the kids, and some of the useless trinkets that were on display. He checked behind the registers and in the drawers, grinning tightly when he found a few bottles of water and a bag of jerky.

Then he found a dead body.

There was a revolver next to the body, emptied of casings that were scattered along the floor, but Kurt grasped the gun anyway, shoving it into one of the packs on his belt. There wasn't anything else to note, but Kurt steeled himself with a grimace and began digging in the man's pockets. He found a wallet, a knife, and then hit the jackpot with a bottle of Oxycodin and a handful of bullets that matched the calibre of the revolver.

“Kurt!” he heard Cunningham hiss from nearby, and Kurt stood up in response, inclining his head in acknowledgement as he pocketed the knife and the bullets with the revolver, grabbing the brass of the used bullets as an afterthought. Zewinsky was stowing some other things in his own pack, and Kurt strode forward to get some of the stuff as well. He glanced up with wide eyes at the jugs of water that Cunningham had found, in which the man replied quietly, “I checked the back. Surprisingly enough people don't check back there because they're usually in such a hurry. Found a few of the Infected back there, but they're down now and won't be bothering us. There's also an exit back there.”

They looked at the two cases of bottled water that couldn't fit inside of the packs and Kurt said, “We can't leave these. We're low enough on water as it is without using the faucets. Which two of us will carry these with the other as a backup?”

“I'd carry both but I'd slow us down even more,” mentioned Cunningham. “Then again, we'd have two people who could cover me just in case we run into a horde or some other problem.”

“I'm not the best shot in the world,” admitted Zewinsky. “I know my way around clippers but that's about it. Maybe I should carry them both since you're both more capable with killin' these things. After all, you're in the Air Force and Kurt's immune, so better you two than me.”

“Can you carry that much?” asked Kurt, concerned. There was a difference between being slow and being unable completely, and maybe Kurt was just being pessimistic but looking at Zewinsky's physical fitness (or lack thereof), he had reasons for his concern.

“I can do it,” Zewinsky stated determinedly.

“You can't drop them if we get ambushed, Steve,” said Cunningham intently, “or if we have to kill one of the Infected that you knew beforehand. You have to stay quiet and let us take care of any problems, and if shit goes down, you'll give one of the water cases to me and we'll both run. We won't be able to survive without it, and I need to know you won't panic and just leave it for some straggler to find.”

“I can do it,” Zewinsky repeated fiercely. “If I need help, I'll ask. You can count on me for that. I know what's at stake here. There are _children_ at the school, for God's sake.”

Cunningham and Kurt glanced at each other, communicating without speaking, before Cunningham nodded and said, “Alright, but the second it gets too heavy for you, tell one of us. We'll take it off your hands and it'll save our skins in the long run, got it?”

Zewinsky nodded, and prepared himself to pick up the weight. They all stood up, Zewinsky lugging up the two cases, and then they made their way to the back of the shop. Kurt kept a close eye on the barber, knowing that he was doing fine at the present moment with the two cases but fatigue would eventually settle in his arms, and followed resolutely behind the three-man group.

They made their way to the back storage door and Cunningham opened it gingerly, peering outside into the sunlight and then nodding back at them. They all filed out, Cunningham quickly throwing the weight of his crowbar into the cranium of the only Infected within the visible area and catching the body with a grimace to keep from making too much noise. They darted past the dark opening of the alleyway, eyes making sure the Infected on the main street hadn't noticed their crossing on the back-end, and then continued south, towards the designated meeting place.

It was relatively the same path they had taken the first time, taking approximately fifteen minutes, and surprisingly Zewinsky hadn't faltered under the weight of the water or his pack. His balance was a bit shaky, his stride slower than before, but they managed, the way almost more desolate than before. It made every hair on Kurt's body stand up, wondering what had called the Infected from before to move. Surely it hadn't been Zewinsky's fumble on the main street, as they had been much too far away for that to be the case. Maybe someone else had gotten caught, or perhaps the Infected were very much in tune with each other to the point where they migrated as a group when potential food was sensed.

Regardless, he wasn't complaining. If they were gone, then that was a good thing, because it meant that the school was under even less of a threat with some of the Infected heading north.

They made it to the field with seconds to spare, and with a head-count, Kurt could see that only one of the five groups weren't back yet. His eyes narrowed, even though he was vaguely pleased to see that the way to the back door was just as vacant as before, and when they made it to the group he immediately helped the barber put the water on the ground as Cunningham addressed the rest of the party.

“What happened? Where's Yates' group?”

A local named Alex said hoarsely, “No idea. We almost called them on the radio but we figured that if they hadn't called for help, they'd be here soon.”

“Not only that,” said Danielle, “but what if they were in a pinch? Calling them on the radio would be a bad idea because then those things might hear them.”

“But if they're in a pinch, then they need help. Should we send someone out?” asked Zewinsky, clearly trying to regulate his breathing. Marissa, a combat medic from Arnold, advanced on him and pressed two fingers to his throat, then nodded as if satisfied and helped him sit down. The barber half-smiled in thanks, accepting a sip of water from a bottle that she offered from her own pack.

“Not yet,” mentioned Cunningham, running an arm across his sweaty forehead with a frown. “We'll give them five more minutes to get here, and then the rest of you will take the supplies in the school. Marissa and I will head out to get them if they don't show.”

Despite his better judgement, and the fact that his family would probably metaphorically murder him for the decision, Kurt added quietly, “I'd like to tag along. Better me than anyone else if they're surrounded.”

Cunningham shot Kurt a hard look and replied, “Better _none_ of us. You could still die even with being immune, and you're not combat trained like Marissa and I are. Besides, you're still just a kid and I'm already not too sure if I liked you being out here in the first place.”

That ruffled Kurt's feathers a bit, even if he understood where the man was coming from. Glaring into Cunningham's dark eyes, he bit back, “Yeah I could still die but so could you, and even though I'm not _combat trained_ , I'm still a good shot and fast. We could all die, but I've got a better shot at surviving and furthermore, better three against a potential problem than two.” Then, as an afterthought, he tacked on, “And I'm not a kid, especially not now in _this_ situation. I'm probably the same age you were when you joined the military if not older, so remove the stigma stick from your arse and come to terms with the fact that I'm not really volunteering. I _am_ going with you, whether you like it or not.”

A few smiles and Cunningham grinned, his white teeth striking against his dark skin. Kurt managed to smile back, briefly and without much humour, then said off-handedly, “Besides, they might show up in the next four minutes anyway and this entire conversation will be forgotten. Let us hope.”

They all settled a bit, still at alert with eyes scanning the surrounding landscape, as Cunningham replied, “Let us hope.”

Four-and-a-half minutes later, hope was abandoned.


	8. Seven: Decisions to Contrary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry. I blame the radiation treatments and the lack of inspiration for anything because of said radiation treatments. Regardless. Hope you lot are doing well. And damn, this day just keeps dragging on, doesn't it? 16 August needs to go away now, kthx.

Chapter Seven  
_Decisions to Contrary_

_16 August +00_

They left the others to filter back into the school with a quiet call on the radio.

Cunningham took a quick drink of water, wiping his chin even though he had been too careful to spill any of it, and then passed the bottle to Kurt. Kurt didn't even consider not accepting it, happily taking a few short gulps before capping it and handing the bottle back. Only a few short months ago, Kurt would've thrown a fit at the idea of drinking after a stranger, but it was different now. It was a damn miracle that they _had_ water, so he wasn't going to be picky about where it came from. Besides, Cunningham had Kurt's back out there, and vice versa, and besides, there wasn't a worse infection out there than the one bringing the dead back to life.

A few feet away, Marissa and a local named Dan shrugged off their packs, putting the supplies they had gathered from their run into the bags of others before re-shouldering their own. They both checked their weapons and then nodded simultaneously, and then joined Cunningham and Kurt as they put some distance between the group and themselves. They had finally decided on a group of four, if only for the chance that there were injuries in Yates' group of problems on the way to retrieve them.

Quietly on the radio, Kurt heard Danielle whisper, “ _We're in position. Get ready to open the door_ ,” and Kurt trained one glasz eye toward the door. With bated breath, they watched as the door opened silently and everyone filtered in as quickly as they could manage with all of the loot, waiting to speak until the doors were closed.

Kurt cringed to himself when the doors closed. His father was going to lose his fucking mind when he realised Kurt wasn't among the returnees.

“Alright, let's move,” said Cunningham. Marissa, Dan, and Kurt immediately moved, following close behind the leader as he began slinking his way towards the outskirts of town. Yates' group had been aiming for a smaller little general store because of the lack of sufficient manpower in their group, so it was odd that they hadn't come back yet. There was always the chance that they had been late due to being forced to utilise an alternative route, which would make things difficult since Kurt's group of four were taking the most direct path, but the fact that the radio hadn't been used was concerning. If they had been intercepted by the Infected, which was likely considering the situation, that meant that the group was dead or in a position that calling out would've been suicide.

Or it was a mixture of both.

They moved quickly, silently, and efficiently. Kurt was unbelievably grateful for the amount of conditioning that he had forced himself through while waiting for the cast to come off, because he would've been miserable otherwise. They were moving as fast as they could without making an obscene amount of noise, and that was quick enough to make him terrified of breathing even harder than he already was. Occasionally, Cunningham would shoot him a look with his unreadable dark eyes, but Kurt would just smile tightly and continue chasing after him with Marissa and Dan by his side.

They avoided all of the roads, sticking to the tree-lined ditches and the sides of abandoned homes. There were no Infected to be seen, which was probably a bad thing since they had been distracted by something else, but at least it made their travelling easier. They could move pretty quickly when they weren't completely focussed on the noise they were making, though they didn't intentionally start singing to be obnoxious.

He cut that line of thought off immediately. Singing led to Glee which led to friends which lead to Blaine and he didn't need to break down right now. He focussed instead on watching the trees around him, and even occasionally on the tall, almost obscenely attractive black man in front of him, though he made sure his eyes never trailed south. He had a boyfriend that he was faithful to ( _he's probably dead Kurt get it through your head that he's dead and so is his sister and his brother you fucking idiot_ – no, shut up that's not true!), and he refused to even look at another man until Blaine was back in his arms and they were as safe as they could be in this violent new world, together.

They made good time as far as Kurt was aware, because he wasn't as familiar with the town as the other three except with the maps they had in the gym. They slowed down when they reached the grocers, eyes narrowed as they made their way hesitantly to the nearest clump of trees. Squatting down into the underbrush, Cunningham whispered, “There's nothing. No Infected, no visible signs of a struggle, nothing.”

“I'd say they got lost, but Marry's been livin' in this town for years and it's his cousin's damn shop in the first place,” threw in Marissa, frowning heavily and looking twitchy. Hell they were probably all looking that way, as if something was going to jump out at them and tear their heads off. Which, considering everything, was a realistic situation that they could get themselves into.

“What d'you think then? Should we head in?” asked Kurt, eyes darting back and forth for even the smallest sign of an Infected. It was just _wrong_ that there was nothing, not even the movement of the trees from the wind, and the heavy feeling in his gut grew larger until he had to focus on his breathing to keep from hyperventilating.

Cunningham shook his head. “If there aren't any Infected around the store, then that means that they aren't trapped inside. Either they're dead somewhere around here or they got ambushed on their way here or back to the school.” He paused, glancing sharply to his left as if he had heard something, and then whispered after a moment, “Alright, so this is what's going to happen and if anyone argues with me I swear I'll strangle you.” Kurt gave Cunningham a weak smile at the direct, but playful jibe towards Kurt's stubbornness, and nodded. “Good. Kurt and Dan, you're both going to head into the store and see if there is anything there worth taking, just in case they didn't even make it here in the first place. If there are any Infected inside, take them out, but if you see more than two or three I want you both to high-tail it out of there and we'll deal with it together. Marissa and I are going to do a light sweep around the building before joining you inside, just to make sure that they aren't in the general area, and then if we don't find anything, we'll comb alternative routes just to see if we can't figure out what's going on. Sound legit?”

Kurt, Dan, and Marissa all nodded, and prepared to move. They both gave Kurt and Dan their empty backpacks and then lightly sprung off, leaving Kurt and his partner to take deep breaths and then sprint the mild distance to the front door of the grocers. He crouched in front of the double doors, blinked, and then pushed open the doors as quietly as he could, Dan following quickly behind.

A terrible stench hit him when he opened the door, but other than the one Infected he could see in his direct line of vision, the store was empty. He advanced quickly and swung his bat, cringing at the sound of the Infected's skull breaking in, and then copied Cunningham earlier by catching the body and helping it down. He couldn't see the entire store after all, and he didn't want to make too much noise just in case there were others out of his line of vision.

He quickly made the rounds while Dan took to guarding the door, eyes darting and ears straining for the slightest sound. He hadn't heard the other two in his party come in the store yet, so the silence was eerie after the sounds of nature outside. He was so used to hearing something besides just his breathing, and the muteness made every hair on his body stand straight on end. He almost relished the sound of his light footsteps as he circled the entirety of the small grocer, because it meant that there was something else here except the dead Infected by the door, Dan in his silent lookout, and the smell of rotting meat and decaying vegetables.

He twitched when he heard movement in the front, but after a quick and wary glance he could only breathe a silent breath of relief to see Marissa and Cunningham closing the door and waving to him with Dan cracking a yellowed smile. He returned to combing the store, not seeing anything worth pillaging except a few boxes of stuffing that were hidden behind a few bottles syrup, all of which he put in a backpack. Most of the goods in the store were perishables and therefore inedible after a month and a half of no electricity, so he gave it off as a bad deal and made his way back to the front of the store towards his three comrades, smiling tightly.

“Nothing but a few little odds and ends, not even enough to fill up one of these things,” he mentioned, throwing the remaining backpacks to their owners. They all shouldered their backpacks and adjusted them around their weapons, eventually getting comfortable.

“We didn't see them, but we did see some footsteps headed to and from. It could've been from earlier people ransacking the store but they looked quite fresh. Marissa and I think we should at least check it out, because it's the only lead we've got here,” Cunningham said lowly, which Marissa agreed with a murmur. Kurt only nodded in understanding and they readied their weapons before making their way out of the putrid scent of the grocers and into the fresh air outside.

They quickly orientated themselves, following Cunningham silently as he led the way to the tracks. A small voice in the back of Kurt''s mind wondered if the footsteps were from a few of the Infected, but Cunningham and Marissa were right: there were three different pairs of footprints, which matched the number in Yates' party, and they didn't look old nor uneven like the Infected's did as they moved from place to place. There was a chance that it belonged to Yates and his party and that was what they were still doing out here. They had to at least make sure, but if push came to shove (and Kurt couldn't believe that he thought this way), they would abandon the party and head back to the school. The last thing they needed was to lose more manpower than the school currently had protecting it, and Kurt's family would resurrect him only to murder him again if he died out here.

After such a close call with death, and having been given a _third_ chance, he wasn't about to squander it, and he doubted the other three would either.

They bypassed the two Infected that came into proximity, staying downwind to make sure their living scent wasn't easily smelt by the monsters, and only had to lose the trail twice before they made their way to a small trailer park on the outskirts of Ashland City. They were only about two and a half miles away from the school by this point, which was an easy run, but they only had a few hours left of daylight before the area would be clothed in darkness. Kurt refused to be out past that time, partly for his own sake but mostly because he did _not_ want to be strolling around an unfamiliar town at night with a few hundred dead cannibals trying to feast on his entrails.

There were more than few Infected milling about, and though Kurt and his group hadn't been seen, the four of them ducked down into a low-lying mess of bushes and foliage, catching their breath after their hasty movements. Kurt laid the baseball bat down and wiped his sweaty hands on his dirt-stained trousers, breathing evenly through his mouth to take in more oxygen and keep his eyes clear of the putrid scent that was beginning to permeate the still air. His stomach returned to twisting itself into knots, because there were at least three dozen around a single trailer, banging eerily on the sides of the aluminium, and had clearly been attracted by something. Judging by the footprints that had hastily made their way to the outermost trailer and the crowd of Infected surrounding it, Yates' group had probably unwillingly baited them right to the front door.

“Alright,” Cunningham whispered, glancing once at Marissa and Dan before rolling his dark eyes onto Kurt's form. “We're still downwind, but we're going to have to get into line of sight in order to follow the trail. They're in that trailer for sure, but since we don't know what kind of shape they're in we can't just distract the Infected and lead them away. We need another plan, so any ideas?”

Kurt shook his head once and hissed, “What else _can_ we do though? They can't be hurt too badly, because there isn't any no blood in the tracks and the footprints are steady. And we sure can't go in there and take them all out without being forced to shoot – we're already dead tired and running off adrenaline instead of food and sleep. The only option is to distract them and then get the others.”

“If one of us distracts a horde like that, it'll be a suicide mission,” Cunningham shot back quietly, glaring slightly at Kurt as if he knew exactly what was going on in Kurt's mind. Kurt cringed at the ire in Cunningham's low tone and the thunderous expression on his dark face, but the singer knew that it was the only option. There was no way that they would be able to get through a group like that without firing weapons, and if they did that, every Infected in a ten mile radius would be attracted to the sound. If Yates' group was in bad shape, they wouldn't be able to escape with that group in tow while they were surrounded, and all of them would die in the process.

They _needed_ a distraction, and who better than Kurt himself, who was fast _and_ immune? He could get out of there quickly and he roughly knew the way back to the school. If he managed to get lost, he would be more than adept in shuffling around quietly and radioing in until he was safe.

Kurt's stomach curdled in reluctance even as he opened his mouth to argue, but Dan interrupted resolutely, “We leave 'em. We have to leave 'em. We don't have another choice.”

Cunningham's eyes narrowed dangerously and growled. “You're suggesting we _leave_ them? For _dead_? You've got to be fucking _joking_ , Danny.”

“It's too dangerous to go in there without guns, but we can't use guns 'cause it'll attract every one of those fuckers in the area. If Yates 'nd his group of fuckin' idiots are even the tiniest bit injured, they'll only slow us down. Besides, they could be Infected themselves, 'nd we don't need that liability. There are kids in that school, my family too, and I ain't gonna take that risk,” expressed Dan quietly. Kurt felt sick at the words that had been uttered, but he understood Dan's point of view at the same time. If he had to choose between protecting his family and protecting strangers, Kurt would choose his family every time. There was a chance that Yates' group had gotten infected during their sprint to the trailer, especially with such a group of Infected having followed them. While there wasn't any blood on the ground, it didn't mean that they hadn't gotten bitten.

“We're not leaving them, _period_ ,” verbalised Marissa, eyes deadly serious, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes that Kurt couldn't read. Maybe she agreed with Dan, but her morals were making her reluctant to admit to it. God knew that Kurt felt the same.

Marissa's refusal clearly infuriated Dan. “Oh, so what makes these people better than the countless other homes we've passed with survivors, hmm?” he asked, practically inaudible as he glared at Cunningham.

Kurt broke in with a hiss, “Because we don't know for sure if there _are_ people in those houses we've passed. And we never said that we weren't going to try and rescue others, but Yates and his group are our people _now_ and _their_ families are in that school too. There's a large chance that they're capable of escaping but simply can't because of the horde. We can't just pass that up. At the rate that trailer's being knocked about, they're going to get in or overturn it soon, and it'd be _murder_ if we left them here.” Kurt huffed in malice at Dan's idea and set his glare once again on Cunningham. His voice was pure venom when he uttered in a non-nonsense tone, “I am going to cause a distraction, and hopefully a good chunk of those Infected will follow me. I'm going to run back towards the store and then I am going straight for the school when I lose them to meet you at our rendezvous. The three of you are going to get those people out and get back to the school too, and you aren't going to argue with me.”

Marissa took in a deep breath and then nodded tightly, already turning away and focussing fully on the Infected, whereas Dan grunted in the back of his throat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Cunningham himself stared at Kurt for a long moment, frowning heavily and eyes piercing, before he sighed quietly in defeat. “I would like to mention that I am not at all comfortable with this,” the handsome soldier said, but Kurt just smiled shakily and shrugged his shoulders.

“Me neither,” admitted Kurt quietly, “but they're not as fast as I am. I'll be able to get away, I know it.”

The frown on Cunningham's face darkened, eyes narrowing in thought, and then he said, “Alright, but I'm not letting you do this by yourself. You aren't trained for this. Marissa and Dan will be fine on their own, and we'll lead the Infected away. No one gets left behind. I know this town better than you anyway and I don't want to risk you getting lost.”

“I have a map and I'm not stupid,” grumbled Kurt.

Cunningham's eyes glanced at the Infected for a second before he gave a weak smile that looked out of place considering the situation. “Oh, I'm aware, kid,” he said, nearly teasingly as he poked fun at Kurt's age, “but that doesn't mean that would never make a mistake while running for your life. And besides, who would just leisurely take a few minutes to study their map while on the run from blood-thirsty cannibals, eh?”

Kurt exhaled a silent snort, biting his lip to keep any sound from getting out. He shook himself lightly and then nodded once in agreement, lightly placing the bat on the ground to wipe his sweaty hands on his jeans.

“And this is what we were going to do at the school in the first place,” added Cunningham with the air of a man who was trying to build up the nerve to do something dangerous. Which, ironically, was exactly the stake. “Let's just consider this a long-overdue practise.”

Kurt shook his head in amused exasperation and said lowly, “Alright, let's do this thing then. Give us a bit of time to get out of here and then make a run for it.”

“Got it,” said Marissa, and Dan simply huffed in acknowledgement.

Cunningham added quietly, “If any of them are infected, still go about proper procedure. You take them to the school, and then you quarantine them, just like we've been doing. We're not leaving anyone behind, even if they're a potential liability. But...” Cunningham trailed off, eyes still flicking around the landscape for potential threats and possibly for their escape route, before he finally continued, “If they're incapable of getting back without someone getting hurt or worse, you know what to do. Make sure you don't leave them out here to become one of those things.”

The four of them were silent for a long moment, processing that, before there was a murmur of acceptance.

Kurt picked back up his bat and mentally steeled himself for what could possibly be the run of his life.


	9. Eight: Overconfidence and Fear

Chapter Eight  
_Overconfidence and Fear_

_16 August +00_

Kurt took deep, almost painful breaths for every finger Cunningham held up.

 _One_.

The forced increase of oxygen in his bloodstream would help him move at an increased speed for a longer period of time without tiring, though the adrenaline would help with that greatly as well.

 _Two_.

His heart was heavy and thunderous in his chest, not beating quickly but instead thickly as if trying to push tar through his veins and organs. His entire chest almost seemed like it was shaking at the end of each beat, but it helped him focus on something other than what he was about to do and the insects buzzing around his sweaty face.

 _Three_.

Cunningham and Kurt looked at each other for a split second and then moved together towards the open road.

They didn't fire their weapons, and they sure as hell didn't make a racket. At the school, they had had the option of doing that because there had been a wide field of view and knew exactly what the sound would attract. At their present location, however, they didn't have that luxury. They were surrounded by suburban homes and trees and blind spots, not to mention the highways and off-roads that branched from the trailer park. There was no telling how the sound would carry and what or who it would attract.

Instead, they advanced on the three-or-so dozen, Cunningham taking the first swing and Kurt almost immediately taking the second. The two Infected, who had been at the back, made a terrible groaning sound before they fell like a sack of potatoes to the dirt and gravel, their heads caved in and gushing a thick, sticky red. Kurt chose not to focus on that for too long, though, because fresh, warm bodies within hitting distance to the horde of Infected that surrounded the trailer, well...he had to keep his eyes on the Infected that had turned.

There was a simultaneous, almost musical sound that came from the ravaged throats of the Infected as Cunningham and Kurt were spotted. Cunningham took another swing but backed off quickly when his hit only grazed the neck of a female Infected, not moving backwards but instead sideways to keep his balance.

Then at once, the Infected attacked.

The two of them turned immediately and began running at a blinding speed, Kurt following Cunningham as they took to the outskirts of the town. It was too dangerous to take to the city roads, because a horde would only attract the attention of the other Infected milling about. It was a better idea to lead the things outside city limits, because maybe they would make their way to another town and leave the group at the school with less to worry about.

Kurt glanced back only once, as they ran on a gravel road right outside of town in between two fields, confident that the Infected were following quickly due to all of the noises of shuffling feet and hoarse groaning, but the glance was to take the quickest body count he could possibly muster. He turned his head around, thankful that he hadn't tripped, and mentally noted that at least two dozen had followed but possibly more, and that the Infected in pursuit were starting to get closer. After all, Kurt and Cunningham were starting to lose speed as they ran their way down the country lanes outside Ashland City, but the Infected did not tire. If they didn't get off the road soon, they were going to lose too much energy and fall on the loose gravel to their deaths.

Then, as if reading Kurt's mind, Cunningham made a hard left into a field, bouncing nimbly across the tilled dirt that had just recently been harvested. Kurt followed quickly, making sure to hit the tops of the dirt hills, and somehow a maniacal grin popped up on his lips because he could hear the Infected stumbling and falling behind him. A news report from before the infection had breached America popped up in Kurt's mind, one about the near non-existent retention that the Infected had carried on into their infection. Clearly that report had been accurate, because the Infected didn't have the memory to manoeuvre across the tilled fields to avoid tripping.

Kurt didn't dare look behind him to check how much ground they were gaining, because he was concentrating on not falling himself. Occasionally one of them would stumble but neither one of them fell, and Kurt knew that they were putting some distance between them and the horde just based on the grunts fading into the distance.

They slipped back into the tree-line that separated the beginning of the suburbs from the farming fields, Kurt following Cunningham's quick dart to the right. They manoeuvred their way through the trees and brush as quietly as they could manage, Kurt dripping with sweat in the humidity and fighting to keep his breathless panting from being too loud. He ignored the cluster of bugs that attempted to land on his skin, not even swatting them away as they buzzed past his eyes and too oxygen deprived to even think about closing his mouth to keep them at bay. He tried not to think about the fact that he likely inhaled quite a few mosquitoes and gnats, focussing instead of trying to keep his pace up to match Cunningham's.

At the end of the trees, right at the edge of a suburban home, they finally stopped, Kurt immediately dropping to his knees and stilling as much as his desperate breaths would allow. He dropped his bat and covered his mouth with his hand, sacrificing fresh oxygen in exchange for quieting his gasping breaths, and the two of them listened to the surrounding area. Kurt couldn't hear anything past his own thudding heartbeat, the buzzing of insects that were once again beginning to swarm around their sweaty bodies, and the whistle of the hot wind through the trees, and with a quick glance to Cunningham, he finally uncovered his mouth and gulped in the humid air.

"I don't think anything followed us," said Cunningham, his words stilted slightly as he took in his own deep breaths, and the two of them relaxed in the underbrush to prepare for the trip back to the school. The sun was beginning to edge to the horizon, making half of the sky blue and the rest of it a brilliant yellow-orange, and Kurt felt a twinge of unease at the sight. They really needed to get moving, because Kurt was  _not_  going to be outside after dark.

"We need to go," Kurt rasped, flicking his chin in the direction where the hot day was beginning to turn to twilight. "I don't want to be out after dark, and it doesn't take long for the sun to disappear completely."

Cunningham nodded, wiping his brow on the short sleeve of his sweaty, sand-coloured shirt. Kurt let out a quick exhale, swatting the bugs around his face absently before he accepted the half-full canteen that Cunningham handed over. He took a small sip, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting out the sticky saliva that had accumulated after his run, and then took two large gulps of the lukewarm water to ease his scratchy throat. He passed it back, rubbing his hands on his jeans quickly to get rid of some of the perspiration, and then waited until Cunningham had buttoned his canteen back into his weird military belt before they both tensed, preparing to move.

Cunningham quickly glanced at the surroundings that he could see from the foliage, and then nodded once before getting off his own knees into a half-crouched, half-standing position. Kurt followed promptly, staying just as low, the two of them keeping their speed down in order to keep from rustling too many branches or startling anything that might've been hidden by the residential area. They moved efficiently but slowly around the home, eyes darting left and right for any potential threats, and stayed behind the houses as they headed back in the general direction of the school.

"We'll end up hitting the main entrance where most of those things are congregated if we stay on this path," Cunningham whispered, "so I'm going to take us down a few side streets so we can get back to the west side without catching their attention. Stay close and try not to knock anything over in the alleys."

Kurt hummed in acknowledgement, following Cunningham's slouched but still tall form as close as he dared. He didn't even think about swatting the gnats and mosquitoes away, too wary of waving the bat around, and a fleeting thought about West Nile popped into his head. He shook away the thought as soon as it had popped up in his mind, though he knew that it was a legitimate worry, and focussed on staying aware in the strangely silent suburbs of Ashland City.

They made good time, and Kurt began recognising some of the area they passed about fifteen minutes after they had started moving again. They quickly avoided a few Infected that were milling about, mostly clustered around dark, boarded-up windows that possibly housed survivors, but they passed by without stopping, not willing to try and help others when the sun was edging closer to the horizon. There would hopefully be time for that later, when they weren't at risk of being stuck outside in the dark, unable to see the Infected on their path.

They continued moving forward as the sun kept sinking, sticking to the side roads and alleyways between homes and stores that they passed and keeping as quiet as they could with their quick movements. Every time Kurt stepped on a bare stick or on a sheet of newspaper or even a rock, he cringed a bit inside at the sound it made. Perhaps it wasn't too bad, because while they were moving slow enough to keep their breathing under control, their footsteps were louder than the debris in their way. Kurt was likely just being hypersensitive to his surroundings, but he didn't care to do anything different because it might've been the difference between life and death.

And suddenly, without any warning or chance to correct their actions, that thought was proven correct. They passed a corner, admittedly a bit too overconfident at the relative ease they'd been moving through Ashland City proper, and suddenly the Infected were everywhere. There were at least three dozen in the road alone, not even counting the ones that had crowded around two of the homes in the area, and they were continuing to pour into the streets through the side roads.

Cunningham froze and jumped back right into Kurt's chest as if trying to shield him, but the damage had already been done by their hasty movements. Kurt heard a peculiar sound come from his own throat, something between a moan of despair and a quiet scream, eyes wide and baseball bat immediately lifted up in preparation.

The Infected all moved at once, an inhuman mixture of bird-like shrieks and groans accompanying their quick shuffling forward. Cunningham whipped around, grasping Kurt's arm solidly and moving to turn them both back towards the way that they had come, but it was no good, a large group of Infected moving forward in the alley and leaving them trapped.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck," hissed Cunningham, eyes darting every which way, but Kurt could see no options that were optimal. They were utterly surrounded, and no matter which way they went they would be severely outnumbered. They didn't have a choice, and who cared about being loud at this point anyway? Cunningham was right – they were already royally fucked.

Kurt pulled out his Glock and fired, barely even blinking.

It landed right in the skull of the nearest Infected with a loud shot, and Kurt didn't even think about the sight of the thing's brain matter spraying over the brick walls and its fellow monsters behind it. He simply took aim and fired again, this time missing but hitting the Infected through the throat and knocking it down regardless. He fired in quick succession to the things coming at them, hearing Cunningham copy him and begin firing what sounded like a similar pistol, though Kurt was concentrating on the alley because they needed to get out of here through there. The damned street was too crowded for them to leave the other way, and clearing out the alley to backtrack was their only option.

He heard Cunningham yell something to him but the firing of the guns was too loud to distinguish any complete words, and he sure as hell wasn't going to stop shooting. They had to get out of here, and the things were still coming thick and strong. Kurt simply couldn't fire fast enough and even though the alley was narrow the Infected still shoved themselves in, sometimes to the point of falling over themselves in order to get to their fresh meal.

His gun clicked, slide stuck in the empty position, and he cursed rather spectacularly as his shaky hands tried to unlatch the little Velcro latch that held a spare magazine. The Infected moved closer and he kicked out on pure instinct, something he had seen on one of those silly movies that Finn had watched one lazy Saturday afternoon. The thing surprisingly went flying into a few of the others, knocking them down or at least causing them to stumble and slow the horde down, but Kurt didn't even have a second to think about it before he felt someone tugging on his arm.

He swung his gun around, though it was empty and incapable of being fired, and nearly knocked Cunningham in his head, but stopped a mere centimetre away from his skull. Cunningham didn't even acknowledge it other than a few blinks, but that could've been a result from the sweat running down his forehead, and instead continued tugging him, yelling hoarsely, "Up on the roof!  _Now_ , goddamnit!"

Kurt obeyed without question, allowing himself to be pulled as he finally got the magazine out of the case. He dropped the empty one, a flicker of self-focussed anger stabbing in his brain for a few milliseconds, before snapping the loaded one into the butt of the weapon just as he reached the ladder they had both missed. He scrambled upwards as Cunningham covered him, getting just far enough up the ladder before he exhaled sharply and turned around, balancing all of his weight with one foot and hand as he began firing at the horde with his right hand. It gave him enough leverage to fire even more accurately now that he wasn't shaking at the idea of those things grabbing at him since he was out of reach, and it allowed Cunningham to climb up the ladder himself. Kurt watched as Cunningham kicked his own legs out when one latched on, but it didn't seem like the man was hurt or possibly infected when he began moving quickly up the ladder.

Kurt waited until Cunningham was right below him and well out of reach himself before continuing up the ladder, praying to a god he didn't believe in that the Infected had lost enough of their humanity to forget how to climb. He could feel Cunningham right beneath him, his hands occasionally brushing his lower legs due to his closeness, and when the counter-tenor finally reached the roof, he quickly threw himself over the ledge and immediately corrected himself in order to look down at the crowd below.

Panting heavily and drenched in a hot sweat, he attempted to count the Infected that were below, but his eyes were beginning to blur due to the sting of perspiration in the glasz orbs. He absently wiped at his forehead, blinking rapidly and trying to focus his eyes. He gathered a rough estimate of six dozen before he gave it up as pointless, because there was no way in hell that the two of them were going to get out of this without a lot of machine guns and ammunition or a goddamn  _bulldozer_.

"Fuck," he heard Cunningham whisper, and it echoed Kurt's thoughts exactly.

Kurt didn't bother asking what they were going to do, because the two of them only had the one option since this was the only building in the area. He clicked the slide of the Glock back into place, ready to fire just in case, and leaned slightly against the short wall that kept the two of them from falling off the edge of the roof, simply watching as the horde attempted to get at them. It was grotesque and horrifying, watching all of those ruined faces snarl and shriek at them, their arms outstretched towards them and their entire forms missing limbs and chunks of flesh – or, in the case of one of the Infected, the entirety of its intestines and most of an arm. Furthermore, Kurt could smell them from the roof, a terrible smell that was reminiscent of a high school men's bathroom mixed with decay.

Cunningham stood up, wiping his face with both hands almost exasperatedly, and began walking around the roof, glancing over the edges. He moved slowly, his lean but powerful body easily balancing his weight to keep from falling off the edge, and his frown only deepened as his dark eyes took in the Infected that had surrounded them on the streets. It made Kurt's stomach clench, seeing the almost desperate expression on the ex-soldier's face as he tried to think of a way out of their predicament.

Kurt waited until Cunningham had walked the short perimeter before he tapped the concrete beside him. Cunningham took the hint and sat down heavily, his dark skin glistening in the light of the dying sun to the west and each droplet of sweat reflecting all of the oranges and deep blues above. Kurt sighed and took off his backpack, unzipping it and grasping one of the two bottles of water that he had placed in there before they had left the gym in the first place. He took a few long drinks, avoiding looking at Cunningham's expression, before he forced himself to stop, because they had a limited amount of water and there was no way of determining if they would be able to get off the roof any time soon.

He passed it to Cunningham absently, still keeping his eyes off Cunningham to keep himself sane, and then said lightly, "We should make a call on the radio first, tell them what happened. Otherwise they're going to send people out in a rescue party during the night, which would kill a lot more people than I would prefer. Or they'll think that we're dead, and my father  _will_  try to find me in the dark by himself, and I'd rather not have that happen, you know?"

Kurt heard Cunningham sigh before there was the tell-all sound of the radio being taken out of its Velcro pocket. There was a brief hesitation before Cunningham mentioned off-handedly, "If the others aren't in the school yet, then we could be putting them into a bad situation."

Kurt finally glanced at Cunningham, blinking a few times against the brightness of the sunset behind the thin layer of trees. "Look," he said in a no-nonsense tone, "if the others haven't made it to the school yet, then they're in just as much crap as we are and are probably refusing to talk on their radios for the same reason. And if they're still out in town when the sun goes down fully, people in the school are going to start freaking out soon. We have to say something or it's going to start getting worse before it gets better."

"You'd make a good strategist," said Cunningham with a white smile, and Kurt returned the grin happily, pleased that there was  _something_  to smile about in their current situation. The two of them were in a bad situation as it was, but Kurt appreciated both the diffusion of the tension and the clear compliment in Cunningham's words. It kept both of them from stressing out too much and worrying themselves sick. Kurt knew he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown himself, and judging by the look on Cunningham's face a few minutes ago, Kurt wasn't the only one.

"Thanks," Kurt replied with amusement, wiping his forehead again absently. "I spent a lot of time in high school planning escape routes and scathing remarks. I'm quite fluent in sarcastic wit and consider it my second language, and evasion is a special ability of mine as well."

Cunningham let out a soft exhale through his nose in laughter, eventually relaxing against the short wall behind him and shooting back good naturedly, "I'm stuck with a smartarse then, what a treat."

"Oh shut up and make the damn call," Kurt complained, the smile widening in his mirth.

"Alright, alright, easy on the profanity kid. Twelve-year-olds need to watch their language," the soldier said, finally lifting up the radio and pressing the transmit button.

Immediately the lighter mood lifted as Cunningham spoke into the receiver, "It's Cunningham, anybody read?"

There was a second of static before Kurt heard the voice of Yates come over the radio, " _Hey Cunningham, it's Yates. We're hearing you loud and clear, over._ "

Kurt exhaled in relief, for the first time happy to hear that nasally tone speaking. Cunningham seemed to second the feeling, because he replied quickly, "Excellent, good to hear your voice Danny."

" _Yeah no shit right? Your group saved our arses, and not one of us even got infected. We owe you guys our lives, you got it?_ " Kurt glanced over the edge to the faces of the Infected below in order to keep himself in check, because he seriously felt ready to start crying. It hadn't really registered that they had distracted a good chunk of the Infected to get other people to safety, but to hear that they had succeeded without a single person being killed or infected was enough to bring Kurt's emotions immediately to the surface. It had been a good while since he had cried, and if he hadn't been worried about making a commotion or embarrassing himself in front of Cunningham, he probably would've started sobbing because  _they had saved those people's lives_.

It was even harder to keep himself under control emotionally when he could hear Burt calling something over the radio, too far away for the words to register on the radio but undoubtedly asking for Kurt's whereabouts. Kurt felt a large, warm hand settle on his shoulder as he forced himself to keep his burning eyes on the Infected on the streets, their ruined bodies thankfully not moving up the ladder, because it kept his emotions under wraps when he was more focussed on the gravity of their situation.

Without waiting for Yates to ask, Cunningham filled the others in on the situation: "Kurt and I are fine. A bit tied up at the moment but we're in good shape if only a bit tired. We led the group around the trailer park to the outskirts and then cut through town in order to get to the school before it got dark, but we got swarmed. We're both safe, like I said, but we're stuck on this roof and we're not going anywhere for the time being."

Burt's voice was louder, though still inaudible, and Kurt was pretty sure that Finn was joining in with questions of his own, and just by the fact that he could hear their voices meant that the two of them were being way too loud. Kurt beckoned for the radio, scowling at the fact that his family's fear for Kurt's safety was leading them to neglect their own, and it gave him enough ire to forget that he was pretty much emotionally unstable. Cunningham obliged him, passing it over with an unreadable expression on his face, and Kurt grasped the radio from Cunningham's fingers, pressing the transmit button himself.

Irritably, Kurt said, "Dad, I'm fine. Stop yelling and endangering everyone around you, including Finn and Carole. It's not going to help you get answers any quicker." He felt Cunningham move closer, both of their bodies pressing together from shoulder to hip so they could both hear the transmissions and speak together as well, and waited for the noise on the other end to quell a bit. Finally, once he was satisfied, he continued, "But seriously, we're fine. We're holed up on this roof pretty surrounded but neither one of us are hurt. It doesn't look like these things can climb ladders so we're pretty safe up here for the time being."

Cunningham flicked his fingers and leant down towards the radio, so Kurt kept the button held down as the soldier added, "We're definitely not going anywhere for a while. There's probably a good fifty or more here, and there's no telling how many more will be attracted to the racket they're making. I figure the entire town will be dropping by to say hello by morning." He nodded curtly to Kurt and the counter-tenor eased up on the button, waiting for the others to reply.

" _We're going to get you guys out of there, don't you worry about it, but we aren't coming tonight,_ " Yates replied, in which there was an immediate commotion in the speaker in response before the transmission went quiet.

Kurt let out a sound that was a mix between a sigh and a growl before he pressed the button again and demanded angrily, "I know that my family aren't pleased about this but it's the best course of action. We can't have anyone wandering around this place in the dark, because it'll just get everyone killed.  _Including us_. This is the right choice, Dad."

There was a beat of silence and then Burt's voice came out of the speakers, " _Kurt, you shouldn't have even been out there in the first place_ —"

"Agreed," mentioned Cunningham darkly, in which Kurt elbowed him and shot him a glare that would've put Azimio Adams into an early grave. Cunningham was unfazed however, and simply raised an eyebrow as if to say ' _Come at me with an argument right now, I dare you_ ,' which pissed Kurt off even more. He debated on whether to accept the challenge and list all of the reasons – again – as to why he was the best choice for runs, but decided against it in favour of putting his attention into alleviating his family. They had all night to argue, but only limited time on the radio. It wouldn't do for the thing to run out of juice after all, and they needed all the seconds they had.

"— _and now you're all alone out there on some damn roof surrounded by those things and you expect me to just sit here and wait until morning?_ " Burt sounded a bit hysterical, which was highly uncharacteristic of him but ultimately not surprising considering the circumstances, but there was a hint of that familiar hardness in his voice that told Kurt that Burt had accepted his decision despite his argument.

It seemed like Burt had done a lot of that recently, accepting Kurt's decisions when they were clearly extremely dangerous decisions in the first place. Kurt made a mental note to thank his father for being so understanding and supportive of him when Kurt made it back to the school.

Cunningham inclined his head so Kurt pressed the button. Cunningham answered confidently, "We're fine up here. In the morning we'll reassess the situation but for now we just have to stay calm and be patient. I'm going to bring your son back, Mr Hummel. I swear by it. I'll die trying if I have to, but I  _will_  bring him back alive. You have my word, and quite frankly, I'm sure you have  _his_  word too."

"No one is dying," Kurt grumbled, slightly irritated.

"Quiet," said Cunningham, not even glancing his way.

There was a brief moment where the radio was transmitting the murmur of voices in the school, and then Yates said, " _While we're clearly not in complete agreement about this, we're gonna wait until tomorrow. Be careful out there and we'll send out a few people to get you in the morning._ "

Kurt and Cunningham looked at each other, the soldier's thoughts most likely mirroring Kurt's own. Kurt certainly didn't want anyone coming to their possible deaths just because they had been overconfident and careless, landing them in this mess in the first place. There surely had to be another way of going about this that the two of them simply hadn't found yet, likely due to the two of them being dehydrated and exhausted from the multiple runs that day.

"Don't do anything until we contact you in the morning," demanded Cunningham after he had directed Kurt to press the transmit button. "We'll do a bit of scouting ourselves to get more awareness on the situation and fill you in when we are ready.  _Don't_  send anyone out until we come up with a definitive plan, alright?"

" _Gotcha_ ," replied Yates. " _Be safe out there and conserve your battery, but let us know if anything changes for you_."

"Sounds good," answered Kurt, echoing Cunningham's murmur of assent. "We'll talk to you tomorrow morning."

" _We love you Kurt_ ," said Burt, his voice clear through the static, and the statement was reinforced by a few distinct voices in the background, including Finn and Rachel. Kurt smiled and responded quietly, quickly but with feeling, before he turned the knob on the top of the radio to turn it off.

He wasn't sure how things were going to go from this point, but he just needed to stay hopeful. With his family placated for now, he was sure that they weren't going to come after him – worry themselves senseless, yes, but not to the point of doing anything reckless. He just needed to stay calm, keep and eye on the situation, and make sure that the two of them could come up with a plan to keep the others from harm's way.

Kurt exhaled heavily. It was going to be a long, tense night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I was busy dying. But I'm practically in remission now (well, almost), and while I was lazing about all sick and shit, I had plenty of time to write out a few chapters on paper. I just finished typing both of the finished chapters up, though I don't think I'll post the other finished chapter until next week. I have a lot of stories to update after all. Anyway, hope you enjoy this unbeta'd chaper!
> 
> Word count: 5,070


	10. Nine: Dead or Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up guys? Here's another unbeta'd chapter for you. I'm glad people are liking Cunningham...I usually avoid OCs like the plague.

Chapter Nine  
_Dead or Alive_

_16 August +00_

Kurt cradled the radio in his hands.

After the conversation, it seemed almost unnervingly quiet despite the bird-like screams and other torn sounds from the Infected on the streets, and instinctively Kurt looked down again to double-check if the ladder was clear. When he was reluctantly satisfied to see that the Infected hadn't started making their way to the roof, he tiled his head up to look at the dying sunlight.

"A whole night out here, eh?" he decided to say, because the silence was already starting to creep him out. "Sounds like an adventure. A whole night of breathing fresh air is a nice change."

Cunningham snorted, scooting away just enough to where they were close enough to touch but weren't pressed against each other any longer. "Yeah, if by 'breathing fresh air' you mean 'it smells like shit and rot' then sure, I get what you mean."

Kurt rolled his eyes while simultaneously shaking every muscle in his body at once to get rid of some of the excess tension and shakiness. He holstered his Glock after flicking it to safety before he retorted, "You're a negative person aren't you?"

Cunningham glanced over at him with a half-smile and answered, "Not particularly. I was considered the happiest guy in my shop, actually. Always cracking jokes and making people uncomfortable."

Kurt frowned at that. "What d'you mean, uncomfortable?"

Cunningham laughed at that, eyes gazing towards the darkening sky instead of directly at the sun, seemingly lost in his thoughts. That was dangerous, getting lost in one's thoughts...Kurt didn't want to chance being caught unawares out here. He had already done that once today, and it had landed him on the roof.

"Oh you know, me being black. Not that it's about racism because the majority of people in America are pretty cool with everyone nowadays unless there's a long-standing grudge in the way, but it's a lot of fun to mess with people though sometimes it can be frustrating. You people are constantly walking on eggshells, which might be valid considering how some of us act, and it's a laugh to make you uncomfortable. Y'know, like...when someone makes a comment about me being good at hauling bombs on the flight-line, it's because I'm black and made for hard labour. That freaks people out – they start backtracking, trying to take back what they said or simply apologising over and over again, and all I can do is laugh and tell 'em not to sweat it, that I was just playing anyway. People are so politically correct and don't want to hurt anyone's feelings in case they look bad or get sued, so it's just fun to mess with them I guess. Takes a lot of the pressure off, keeps people from walking on eggshells. They treat me like a person after that, instead of a doll or a stereotypes."

Kurt smiled a bit sadly. "Well, it shouldn't be a thing in the first place. Treating people like dolls or stereotypes will get you killed."

"Well  _now_  it will but back in the good old days, it was just how people acted. I know I did it to a lot of people. I'm Jewish born and raised, so I tend to get uncomfortable around Muslims even though I know almost all of them are good people that don't have a problem with me," Cunningham mentioned, shrugging. "It's just human nature and all that jazz. You grow up how your parents raise you."

"I get that," Kurt answered lightly, amused. "I instinctively get uncomfortable around all jocks, I think. Probably always will."

"That's depressing. I guess you're gonna have to be uncomfortable around me for the rest of your life then. I wore a letterman jacket in high school."

Kurt laughed. "You've saved my life though, so you get a free pass."

"Pretty sure the feeling's mutual, kid. Kurt," he amended, when Kurt shot him a glare. The soldier continued, "You're pretty crazy, doing all this shit. Most people would've ran for the hills but you just keep throwing yourself in the thick of things. Everyone's heard what happened at your first safe house, how you went out for that girl with no prior experience. I figure most kids your age are either dead or shitting themselves right now, but you just keep steamrolling into the fight."

"Well, I'm eighteen, so I'm not at kid," Kurt started, intensifying his glare. Cunningham snickered at him, white teeth practically glowing in the dying sunlight. "Besides, I'm immune apparently and I've always been quick. I'm good at this and if it keeps people like my brother from doing runs, then I'll take it. He might be only a few months younger than me, but  _he's_  a kid. He would be sitting in the living room eating an entire box of cereal from a mixing bowl, watching Sunday morning cartoons and laughing with his mouth full."

"It's Wednesday," Cunningham said, voice full of mirth.

Kurt promptly threw a pebble at his head.

"Anyway, it keeps him from getting his hands dirty," Kurt said with a sigh. "That's worth it, you know?"

"Maybe," Cunningham answered. "Sheltering anyone is just going to get them killed. He's going to have to get his hands dirty eventually, and better to do it now while the numbers are low than later when we have to move."

Kurt frowned. "Do you think we will have to move? Surely we can just stay here in Ashland City, right?"

Cunningham looked at him with no small amount of exasperation. "What, until the military bails us out? Nah, that flag's gone with the wind, Kurt. Heard that the government is still making a stand near Colorado Springs, and that seems like a safe bet considering the manpower they were moving there before the infection even hit the U.S., but there are still roughly three hundred million people that live in this country, and that's if you don't count people that are here illegally. That's three hundred million dead people that are standing in the way of a full assault to take back America. No military, no matter how large, can neutralise that big of a threat. It'll take years for them to make a stand, decades to be more realistic, and we can't hide in a high school for decades waiting for a resistance. We're going to run out of food and water in this town, and it's not like we can start a farm and milk cows on our days off. We're going to have to move eventually, if only so we don't starve to death here or run out of ammunition. We don't have another option but to leave this place. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon, at least before the winter comes."

Kurt didn't know what to say. He knew that Cunningham was right, that they would eventually have to leave so they could get ammo and food. Hell, Kurt had heard on the news that there were towns that were building walls to keep the Infected out, all over the country, and it would be better to get to a safe haven sooner rather than later, while they were still letting people in. Eventually people would shut their doors, hide in plain sight, and all of the people in Ashland City would be stranded in this country.

Instead of arguing for the sake of arguing, because there were still options in Kurt's opinion, the counter-tenor asked, "Do you really think they're dead?"

Cunningham raised an eyebrow, his features starting to disappear as the sun finally began slipping under the horizon. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course they're dead. They're missing arms and legs and organs and who knows what else. That's the definition of dead."

"Yeah, but it doesn't make any sense," Kurt said, thinking back on all of his musings. He had been wondering about this for a while, but hadn't brought it up lest people start questioning. The last thing their group needed was someone thinking that these  _things_  could be rehabilitated because they weren't dead. The Infected were monsters, and wouldn't stop even if their limbs were chopped off. "I mean think about it. Dead things rot, right? Human beings in particular rot in a specific manner. Rigour mortis, bloating, blood sinking because the heart isn't pumping any blood and causing severe bruising, and eventually decomposition. But these things don't do that. They don't get stiff, their blood doesn't congeal or fall to the ground although maybe that can be explained by their constant movement, and there hasn't been any reports of decomposition. I mean, in Europe and Asia they were still trying to clear out town when the TVs went dark, and that was two months after the initial outbreak, which makes sense because the news said they weren't dead. How can they be dead if they don't go through the stages?"

Cunningham's brow furrowed in the increasing darkness. "I've never really thought about it. I mean, we've all played the video games and watched the movies, right? Those things are zombies, period. Maybe they aren't going through the same problems because they still have some function in their brains when they reanimate, but regardless, I can still smell the decay. You can smell it from here. They're definitely decaying."

"I don't think so," Kurt shot back, glancing back down to watch the Infected as they reached for the two of them. "I think the only decay we're smelling is the skin rotting in their teeth. That's why it's not super rank, like, hit-you-in-the-back-of-the-head rank. If this many dead bodies in one location smell more like shit and piss than decay, then they aren't decaying. Their old meals are."

Cunningham looked incredibly disgusted as he asked, "Well if they aren't dead, what do you think? How do you explain their continued movement after being torn apart?"

Kurt shuddered, a bit nauseous about their conversation, but he replied, "I don't know. I've been thinking about this and I really haven't come up with a good answer yet. All I know is that the human brain is essentially just a computer in our skulls that keep our bodies alive. I also know that the rest of the body isn't dependent on blood and organs. I mean, it  _is_  but at the same time it's not. Some of them, yeah, but not all of them. We can live with fake hearts and fake limbs and fake organs, but we can't live without the liver or the pancreas or the brain. The liver and the pancreas is just there for filtering out toxins and everything else, extremely important to a working body, but to a brain dead vessel like these things are?"

Kurt took a deep breath and said, "This is going to sound crazy, and I sure as hell don't have a medical degree to back any of this up, but if these people were infected with something like a parasite that took over... It happens all the time, bugs and mammals getting infected by some parasite like toxoplasmosis or something else, and turning into mindless things in order for the parasite to survive and breed. Ants are pretty well known when it comes to this, and I know some larger mammals like rats will intentionally let themselves get eaten to spread their parasites.

"But think about it. The Infected don't have personalities, no brain function other than moving and eating, right? That's brain stem activity, not full brain function, which means they aren't people any more. Say this is a parasite that infects humans. It travels up to the brain and starts latching on or whatever, but destroys all brain function afterwards. The Infected have fevers beforehand, so the immune system is clearly fighting it off. Meanwhile, the body starts building a...barrier or something to keep the blood in the brain before taking complete control, which explains why the blood in the head is all black and congealed and gross when the heads are taken out. A barrier explains why the brain keeps going even after the entire body is destroyed in some cases. If this parasite can control a host and keep a brain working even after the circulatory system fails, then the parasite can live in their for ages even if the host is incapable of moving. Maybe these things eat living creatures because they need to be recharged, supplying fresh blood to the parasites in the brain, making them go longer without dying. It's simple nature, survival of the fittest – viruses and pathogens do the same thing."

Cunningham was quiet for a moment, and then he decided to add, "There would still be decomp though. If there's no blood moving through the body and no oxygen to all of the cells, the cells die, right? That leads to decomp."

"Maybe they will decay," amended Kurt, "but there are still going to be heads that are still going to be biting ankles, and all it takes is one of these things to spread a secondary infection. The situation in Canada is a perfect example of one idiot that lead to the death of two continents."

Cunningham looked at Kurt for a long time, dark eyes searching his face even through the dusk that was settling in. "You just graduated high school, right?" At Kurt's nod, Cunningham asked, "What did you want to do after? Like, I don't know if you were going to college, though I figure you probably were since you're pretty smart and your dad seems to be a providing guy, but what did you want to do for the rest of your life?"

Kurt smiled nostalgically. "Seems pretty stupid now, considering everything that is going on, but I was going to New York to major in musical theatre. I wanted to be on Broadway, sing my heart out on stage every night and pretend to be someone else on a day-to-day basis, even if it was just for a few hours."

"That's not stupid," Cunningham said. "Doing something that makes you happy is nothing to be ashamed of. Well, maybe not the pretend-to-be-someone-else part, but that's not my call."

Kurt wanted to reply with ' _Yeah, well you didn't live the life that I lived, with everyone hating you because of who you were as a person_ ' but didn't, because he was stronger than that. He didn't want Cunningham to pity him, or look at him differently, and he wasn't the type of person that actively went out of their way to garner sympathy from everyone they met. Instead, he said only a bit untruthfully, "It's a fanciful idea though, getting to pretend to be other people and getting paid for it at the same time. That's why people always want to be actors and actresses, so they can get paid to live someone else's life."

Cunningham laughed. "No, people just want to be rich and famous no matter the reason.  _That's_  the main reason people try to go in that career field, not to escape reality."

Kurt shrugged at that. "Yeah, I suppose that's right but there's nothing wrong with that either. Being famous leads to being rich and loved, and everyone wants to be rich and loved."

"Not me," said Cunningham, his tone genuine. "I mean yeah, I wanted job security and enough money to be comfortable, but I was happy. I had a job that was going to guarantee me a Master's degree, I had a family..." At that, he trailed off, breaking eye contact and looking down into the swarm of Infected below. An expression crossed his face then, something dark and twisted, that made Kurt's eyes narrow in concern.

Instead of inquiring if he was okay, because Kurt knew he wasn't, he tentatively asked, "Do you want to talk about it? I'm a pretty good listener."

Cunningham didn't say anything for the longest time. He simply watched the Infected below as the sun finally slipped completely under the horizon, leaving the town of Ashland City cloaked in darkness. His skin was so dark that Kurt could barely make out his features other than his eyes and the dirty white shirt he was wearing, but in a way it kept Cunningham from being studied to closely. Out of respect, Kurt looked up to the sky, picking out the stars in the sky and trying to recognise constellations, only finding a few. He had never been good at all of the astrology stuff, and he didn't believe in all of that superstitious stuff like signs and fate so he hadn't really gone out of his way to learn.

Eventually though, he said, "Not really."

Kurt paused, not looking away from the night sky, and then replied, "Okay." With a quiet smile, Kurt stood up, hesitating only a moment before placing his hand on Cunningham's shoulder and squeezing lightly, trying to offer some sort of comfort because the solder was clearly distraught even if he tried not to show it. He wasn't sure how to comfort men either, because most men tended to shy away from him because of his obvious 'gayness' and wouldn't allow him to. Kurt was good at arguing heatedly, and defending himself, and being sarcastic, but he  _didn't know_  how to comfort a man without it being perceived by the other guy as sexual.

Cunningham didn't seem to care though, maybe because Kurt didn't come off as unapologetically gay with his relatively 'normal' clothes. He didn't have on his tight pants and layers and women's sweaters, instead the dirty baggy jeans, yellow shirt, and trainers. Sure his voice was still high, and he still had a gay face, but it wasn't as glaringly obvious either. Maybe not being as blatant about his sexual preference hadn't scared off his partner yet, though it still could – the man had said that he was Jewish, and while his friends from Glee had been religious and yet accepting, there was no guarantee that Cunningham would be.

Kurt decided not to bring it up just in case. He sincerely doubted that Cunningham would let him die out here just because of something like Kurt's sexuality, since Cunningham seemed like a pretty easy-going guy, but Kurt didn't want to chance it.

He began walking the perimeter himself, listening to the world around him. He could still hear the shrieks and groans of the Infected that were surrounding them on the ground floor, but he could also hear things other than that. The bugs buzzing in the trees and around their faces, the hot breeze whistling through the trees, the creak of the ladder as the Infected banged against it, the hoot of an owl. It was really quite tranquil to be honest, because even with the sounds of the Infected that were commonplace even in the school, at least they didn't have to deal with the echoes of the banging or the whispers of fear. They could listen to the world outside instead, and that counted for something.

He was still terrified but he felt safe at the moment, something that should've been dangerous, but the Infected weren't scaling the side of the building and climbing the ladder so they were okay for now.

They were quiet for a long time, Kurt eventually sitting down with a yawn that he tried to hide in the darkness. He was tired, every muscle in his body aching from their hard day, and he knew that it was only going to get harder. At this time of night, he was either humming softly with Rachel and Finn or getting ready to bed down for the night, and he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to stay awake until dawn. They both needed to get some rest so they weren't completely wiped in the morning, but at the same time they also needed to come up with some sort of solution to their problem. Kurt was incredibly uneasy at the idea that any of his family would come after him. Burt needed to take it easy after his heart attack, Finn was a decent shot at best and certainly not an endurance runner, and Hiram just wasn't mentally there. He would've counted Carole and Rachel as well if he had been even remotely convinced that any of the boys would've let them come.

"I'll take first watch. I'm used to it by now, doing it at the school for as long as we've been there. I'll let you sleep for a few hours, then we'll trade off and I'll get some sleep. We'll reassess the situation at six, just before dawn, and see if anything has changed before we radio in. Sound good?"

Kurt smiled and nodded, knowing that Cunningham would be able to see it in the moonlight. Cunningham nodded back and stood up, stretching in a long, lean line before finally shrugging off his own pack, letting it fall to the ground with a dull  _thump_. Kurt himself pushed his body to the middle of the roof, not wanting to get too close to the ledge just in case one of those things figured out how to get up, and used his own pack as a makeshift pillow. It was lumpy and uncomfortable but it was better than nothing, and he shifted a few times to find the most comfortable position he could.

He figured that it would take forever to get to sleep, because he wasn't used to sleeping outside and the sounds of the Infected were much closer, but it wasn't the case at all. Despite the fact that he was a bit uncomfortable and he was still sticky and dirty, he fell asleep almost immediately.


	11. Something Uneasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, lovelies. This fandom died and Naruto took over my life instead. Besides, once again, the ending of Glee made me want to vomit until the end of time, so yeah. Also, personal things. Anyway, unbeta'd like usual and enjoy. Next updates shouldn't be as long...*knock on wood*

 

Chapter Ten  
 _Something Uneasy_

_16 August +00_

When Cunningham shook him into consciousness, he actually felt well rested.

He didn't remember if he had woken up at all during his four hours, which he guessed was a good thing. Without even a thought whether or not he had embarrassed himself during sleep (he was past that, sleeping in a gym full of strangers every night for months), he hopped up and stretched. He walked past Cunningham, yawning widely while brushing the few and occasional rock off his clothes and skin, and glanced at his partner lazily when one heavy pat on the back nearly knocked him on his arse.

He took watch at the ladder, taking a peek over the edge. He couldn't tell if there were less or more down there because of the utter lack of light, both from the absence of the moon and stars as well as the street-lights not being illuminated. It was an inky blackness now, eerie and almost ominous, and there was a stronger wind blowing, not wild but noticeably more intense. He could smell something familiar in the air, something he hadn't smelt in a while, and as Cunningham curled up and seemed to finally sleep, he tried to put a name to it as well as the weird itch in the back of his head that spoke of _wrongness_.

Quietly, he dug around in his pack for one of the small protein bars that he had been allotted for his run, not at all hungry but knowing that he would need his strength when the time came. Besides, in a few hours, he knew his stomach would being protesting loudly, and the last thing he needed was to be worried about his stomach growling if he needed to be quiet later on in the day.

The paper crinkled loudly as he opened it, not slowly but quickly to get the process over with as fast as possible, but Cunningham didn't even twitch at the sound. Relieved, he began nibbling on it, eating it methodically as to trick his body that it was filling up at a faster rate, though he was aware that a single protein bar would do nothing for the inevitable hunger that would creep in as the hours passed. He had three more in his pack, and he would eat two more before their next run (however in the hell they would accomplish that) in quick succession just to make sure that he could sustain physical activity without leaving himself absent of food just in case they got stranded again.

As he ate, he began pondering on their situation. How in the hell were they going to get off when the only way down was down the ladder they had used to get up? There were so many Infected surrounding the building that they couldn't lure them all to one side of the building as a distraction, or even just enough to make a somewhat clean getaway. There were no surrounding buildings close enough to jump to, nor could they make a makeshift bridge to another one because there was no way they could make a stable platform over such a distance without beam support from the street or the other building. There weren't enough materials to do such a thing anyway.

The roof access hatch in the northeast corner of the roof had been locked from the inside and the plate was metal, so they couldn't simply open the door to get into the building. It would be a lot easier to just crash their way through a side door and past half a dozen Infected instead of jumping off the roof or climbing off the ladder into a waiting horde of dozens, so Kurt knew that the access hatch was pretty much the easiest shot they had. Cunningham had a crowbar as his primary weapon, so maybe with enough leverage they could prise the hatch up just far enough for the lock to break or for some other miracle to take place.

Regardless, they couldn't even attempt to break through the hatch until light broke through because there was no way that Kurt wanted to risk wasting the batteries of their tiny torches. With the natural light, they wouldn't have to worry about time limits, and could have full range of movement without accidentally hurting themselves or each other in a blind spot.

They really did need a miracle, and Kurt didn't even believe in those. He genuinely hoped that Cunningham's god came through. The chances of such a plan working were slim to none, and Kurt had always been a realist.

So Kurt continued to ponder on other ways to get out of their bind without involving the others at the gym. The only real option they had was the rear hatch, or maybe one of them jumping down to be bait so at least the other could survive. Kurt frowned in the darkness of the too-early morning, completely against the latter. Kurt wasn't _actively_ looking to die himself so the idea of jumping feet-first into a starving horde of Infected just so Cunningham could skip off into the sunrise, especially when there _had_ to be other options available to them, was instantly abhorrent. Cunningham doing the same thing was just as absurd.

Kurt froze when he heard a low rumble in the distance followed by a stretched moment of utter stillness. It took a few long seconds for him to process the fact that it was thunder, and by that time there was a flash of lightning on the horizon, turning the sky an eerie violet as it briefly illuminated the fierce-looking clouds that blotted out the moon and stars.

The second the lightning faded, Kurt finally connected the dots with _thunderstorm_.

The scent on the wind was instantly recognisable as ozone, and the wrongness that he had felt stirring had been the utter absence of sound other than the wind as well as the pressure in the air. There were no sounds of crickets or bugs buzzing in the trees and grass around them, and most importantly no bird-like shrieks or groans in the air. It was like Kurt was all but alone in the world, with only Cunningham left alive as he slumbered quietly in the centre of the roof, and everything else had just died or faded away into memory.

Another rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, and after a second of holding his breath, Kurt scrambled towards the edge of the roof and prepared to peek over the edge the second the lightning lit up the sky.

He didn't have to wait long – only half a minute had passed before the sky once again turned a deep purplish-black – and Kurt elevated his head to glance at the street below. His glasz eyes widened as he noted that there were only perhaps a dozen of the Infected below, and as quietly as he could manage, he stood up to make the rounds around the building.

It took quite a bit of time since he had to wait for lightning to flash, and by the time he had completed the circuit around the building the few and occasional droplets of chilly rain was beginning to drip from the bloated, violent rain clouds above. Cunningham was still sound asleep as far as Kurt could tell, and Kurt wondered absently how long he had pondered before the lightning and thunder had started. Perhaps an hour or so? Certainly not enough sleep for his partner to feel well rested like Kurt did, but the counter-tenor didn't want to take any chances. He had counted about two dozen, a far cry from the fifty or more before, and it was one hell of a shot if Cunningham wanted to go for a quick run. After all, Kurt didn't know when the rain would start – though judging by the decreasing amount of time between the thunder and lightning it would be soon – and making a run for safety while it was pouring down rain would make them more likely to slip and fall in the slickness of the water.

He was surprised that Cunningham hadn't bolted awake from the thunder, but perhaps the soldier trusted Kurt a bit more than Kurt trusted the soldier, being able to sleep through both the impending storm and the Infected below without waking. Or maybe he really was just that exhausted.

Nevertheless, Kurt was confident that he _wasn't_ going to wake him. Sure, there was a chance that there was an exposure risk from the storm on the roof, or that the Infected numbers were a fluke and would increase shortly back to the previous count (or would go higher, even), but Kurt doubted it. With the storm pushing in quickly, winds increasing and the threat of rain looming, their scent would be rapidly thrown off and the sounds that they would make would be washed away with the general downpour of the storm. If anything, Kurt figured that the Infected numbers would _decrease_ as long as they stayed quiet and minimised their signature, and if they waited until the storm passed, then they would deal with the minimal numbers as well as the weather being mostly stable.

With a deep breath, Kurt sat down relatively close to the soldier and settled himself to wait, preparing for a long remainder of the night.

* * *

It took an ear-popping crack of thunder and a concurrent flash of lightning to wake Cunningham up.

The soldier startled awake with a low gasp, hand automatically reaching towards the stock of his weapon, and Kurt instantly reacted, fingers wrapping around Cunningham's forearms to stall further movement. They paused in that position for a long moment before there was another flash of lightning, no thunder accompanying it, and then the first fat raindrops began falling almost immediately after.

Kurt blinked, a bit surprised that the sporadic sprinkles were actually quite warm (even though it made sense since it was late summer and most certainly not Ohio), and then pulled away, yanking off his shirt without much thought with it so he could wrap up the radio and the extra ammunition in the bottom of his bag. At the same time, Cunningham seemingly relaxed and said in a sleep-rough voice, "How long has it been storming?"

Absently, dedicated to keeping all of the perishables dry before the far and few between sprinkles really began pouring, he answered, "Just started sprinkling, obviously, but the thunder and lightning has been going on for about an hour maybe. I'm surprised that you didn't wake up to be honest – it's been pretty loud out here."

Cunningham wiped the sleep and drips of water out of his half-lidded eyes and hopped to his feet as well. "Must've been pretty out of it. What's the perimetre look like?"

At the last few words, Cunningham began taking off his shirt as well, and Kurt averted his eyes politely as he replied, "Maybe two dozen now, if that. I think the storm's driving our scent away and clearing up the air a bit, so they're moving on."

"Good. Take off as much clothes as you're comfortable with and bury them in your bag. It'll keep us from making noise once the rain stops, and we'll be able to move faster if we're not water-logged. Besides, I don't know about you but I reek so..."

Kurt snorted. "Yeah, I know what you mean." His eyes flickered to Cunningham for a split-second, wary of freaking the soldier out by taking off more than just his shirt, but Cunningham was already shucking his jeans, completely unconcerned. Then again, he was military, and Kurt's knowledge of the military was solely from the movies: a bunch of guys (and, occasionally, girls) in some massive tent or building, in various stages of undress, yelling crassly at each other while cleaning guns or watching the television. Cunningham had probably been surrounded by totally naked guys before, some probably gay too, and had desensitised himself to it. After all, he seemed pretty unconcerned with being clad in only pair of boxers as he shoved his jeans, shoes, socks, and shirt into his bag.

Kurt sucked it up and started removing his own clothes, stripping down to only his boxer-briefs and sighing in relief that he hadn't forgone underwear in the first place.

Kurt wasn't cold, even with the wind blowing fiercely and the rain picking up tempo, because the still, almost suffocating air was still too warm. Even despite that, though, he felt a shiver of gooseflesh appear on his skin; he sat down heavily in response, pulling his knees to his chest and hugging them close with his bare arms. He felt...exposed, sitting on top of a roof as a thunderstorm began raging above them, his nearly naked skin open to the elements. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that Cunningham was also nearly naked beside him, or the vulnerability of his body on an open roof surrounded by the Infected, or the fact that he had no clothing to protect him from the thunderstorm, but in a way it was almost cathartic. Not in the stale air of the school, surrounded by people that rank of sweat and despondency, terrified that they would get trapped in the gym by a horde or starve to death when the food ran out. Out here, those troubles were still in the back of his mind but he was still in the open air, getting the first real sort-of shower he had had in months, free to not have to comfort his family or put up a brave face to the people in the gym that looked at him like some sort of pariah or martyr that would somehow change like Kurt's infection was just delayed.

He was fucking terrified but he felt like he could breathe for the first time in ages.

"I'd kill for some body wash," Kurt said, just to break the silence that was only broken by thunder and the steady fall of rain. Cunningham laughed in response, slightly high-pitched but ultimately full of mirth, and Kurt smiled. Then he tilted his head towards the sky, sticking out his tongue to catch the drops on his tongue, and almost absently began rubbing at his grime-streaked arms, a lame attempt to wash off some of the dirt and sweat that their run had accumulated.

For a while they were both quiet, Kurt trying to clean himself off as much as possible, Cunningham looking over the sides of the building to assess their situation. After about fifteen minutes, almost like an afterthought and just barely audible enough to be heard over the rain, Cunningham murmured, "There's twenty or so down there, though it's hard to tell since it's so dark. That being said, if you look east—" At this, he pointed towards downtown Ashland. "—the sky is starting to go grey."

Kurt couldn't really see it, not with the flashes of lightning blurring out his night vision, but he trusted Cunningham's judgement.

"What d'you want to do?" asked Kurt.

Cunningham glanced his way for a long moment, briefly illuminated as a dark, glistening silhouette as the sky flared behind him, and then said, "I think we need to call back to the gym and tell them that we're going the second the light is high enough to see without flashlights."

Kurt nodded, though he wasn't sure if Cunningham could see him. "It'll be dangerous," he said as he walked over to Cunningham. He made sure that he averted his eyes politely from Cunningham's form as he sat, settling his back into the short wall that kept them from falling off the edge, and hunched over his backpack. "With all this rain, we won't be able to run hard if we need to. If we don't have that edge, we might not make it."

"We'll have to risk it," Cunningham replied, apparently having no qualms about setting boundaries between a half-naked, oh-so-very-obviously gay guy as he plopped down ungracefully by Kurt's side. Kurt had to fight the instinctive flinch at Cunningham's close proximity, and immediately felt terrible about it. Cunningham had done absolutely nothing wrong to him, had never thrown any slurs or fists in his direction despite the 'gayness' that all but oozed from Kurt's pores, so it was utterly ridiculous that Kurt was still fighting the residual fear that came with an alpha male in his personal space.

Maybe he would _always_ expect to be cornered with violence from heterosexual men and would _always_ be surprised when they showed him kindness and camaraderie instead.

Slowly he relaxed as he unzipped the backpack, pulling out the radio and making sure he huddled over it even more protectively. He glanced once at Cunningham, blinking rapidly to clear the water streaming into his eyes, and at the quick nod from his companion, he turned the knob to power it on.

"Hello?" he called into the microphone, as loudly as he dared.

There was nothing but static that responded, so he shifted a bit and waited for a bit. It was still early, and the majority of the people in the gym were sleeping. If the radios were sitting on the table, it would take a minute or so for the patrols or someone sleeping nearby to hear Kurt's transmissions. Then, when Cunningham nudged him with his shoulder, Kurt repeated, "Hello?" He paused again, and then asked, "Is anyone there? It's Kurt and Cunningham, come in."

Static.

The first tendrils of unease began to curl up in his belly and he looked towards Cunningham. "What d'you think?" he asked. "Think the radios are off or something?"

There was a deep frown on Cunningham's handsome face. "Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't seem right. It's dawn, and we said that we'd radio in in the morning. They might be trying to conserve the batteries like we are, but they have spare batteries there and multiple radios to use so why have them off when they're expecting our call? Particularly since they had no idea if we would get into trouble during the night and would call for help."

The unease expanded into his lungs and threatened to choke off his breathing. "Maybe the storm's interfering with the signal?" he managed, vaguely surprised that his creeping panic hadn't made his voice even higher.

"These are military-grade. The storm won't cut it off that easily," he said, voice carefully even. He pressed in closer to Kurt, the long line of his arm and torso pressing against Kurt's without shame or wariness, and continued, "Even so, keep trying. We'll reach them eventually, I'm sure. They're probably just patrolling and have the radios too far away to hear."

So Kurt kept trying. The unease rolled into worry, which steamrolled into full-blown fear as long minutes passed, Kurt's voice going louder until Cunningham had to physically tear the radio from his clenched fingers.

"Is anyone there?" he said into the radio, voice eerily blank, and received only silence in return.

Kurt watched Cunningham bite his lip, stare at the radio impassively, and then turn the radio off as he turned towards Kurt. There was a beat of silence, and then he said quietly through the rain, "Put this in your pack. We're leaving. Now."

Kurt immediately took the offered radio, barely opening the zipper enough to get the damn thing inside, as Cunningham began laying out the plan: "It's starting to get light out, but we have to get back fast so we'll have to chance the dark. We'll put on our clothes now, and then one of us will distract the rest of the dead ones towards a different side of the building as efficiently as we can without attracting more of them." They simultaneously began dressing themselves, though it was rather difficult with the rain dampening their clothing really quickly, making it hard to manoeuvre said clothing onto their soaked bodies. Cunningham continued, "As that's happening, the other will head down the ladder and guard the way, taking care of any of them that linger as quietly as possible. Then whoever distracted the Infected will run for it, getting as quickly down the ladder as they can until we can both take off together. Then we make way to the school as quick and safely as we can and go from there."

As a unit, they finished dressing and shouldered their backpacks as Kurt said, "I'd like to go down first. Better me than you and besides, I'm sure you have more practise getting down ladders. I'd probably break my head if I rushed."

Cunningham laughed, not bothering to muffle it too much (since they were going to distract the Infected around the building anyway and the rain was pretty loud as well), and said, "Well, as I know that you refuse to lose an argument, I'll go along with it for once I suppose."

Kurt side-eyed him suspiciously, then asked wryly, "You were already planning on me going down first, weren't you?"

Cunningham simply grinned.


	12. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys...
> 
> Also, unbeta'd like usual.  Enjoy I guess.

Chapter Eleven  
 _Grief_

_17 August +00_

Kurt stayed hidden behind the short wall of the roof next to the ladder while Cunningham worked.

The soldier – _Airman_ , not soldier, Cunningham had corrected just minutes ago – was calling down as loudly as he dared over the top, smacking his hands against the concrete as he started slowly leading the Infected to the right. When he got to the first corner, Cunningham let out an almost awed laugh and said, "Holy shit, I can't believe this is working."

Kurt grinned at him, still prepared to move at Cunningham's signal.

After about ten minutes, with rain and bloated clouds attempting to block out the early dawn light just beginning to grey out the sky, Cunningham finally got to the other side of the roof. With a quick backwards glance, Cunningham smiled brightly at Kurt and said, "Go for it, kid, and be careful."

Kurt smiled back, flipped him off, and pushed himself up.

A quick glance over the roof showed the deserted alley, save the few _really_ dead ones that Cunningham and Kurt had taken out the day previous, and so Kurt exhaled forcefully and twisted himself in order to begin descending the ladder. It was slippery going down, the rain making his descent nerve-racking, and he had to feel his way down because it was darker in the alley and he could barely see the rungs of the ladder in front of his face.

But finally he felt solid ground against his feet, and he let go of the rungs, immediately unsheathing his knife to protect himself. Another quick glance around proved that his descent had gone unnoticed, so he crept towards the backside of the building, checking that their way out would be clean. After all, they would never be able to make it from the road, and the tree-line would also work in their favour.

He noticed three, but they were all being lured towards Cunningham's racket, so with any luck they would be with the rest of the horde within moments. If not, Kurt could see a few ways they could move past them, utilising the shadows to their benefit to keep from being noticed.

A light noise sounded behind him, and Kurt jumped involuntarily, head snapping towards the disturbance. To his relief, all he could see was Cunningham sliding down the ladder, not using the rungs at all (which was kind of impressive, and Kurt really wanted to learn _that_ trick), eventually hitting the ground a tad bit more heavily than Kurt would've liked.

They both paused for a long, silent moment, Kurt's heart slamming in his chest because that had been a little loud, and then Cunningham straightened out of his slight crouch with a visible exhale of relief. Kurt turned back towards the tree-line, eyes instantly centring on the two Infected still in their way, and when he felt Cunningham's hand on his shoulder he stated quietly, "Two in the way, but they're being drawn into the horde. If we move to the right, we can move in the shadow of that big tree over there. We'll only be in the open light for a few seconds if we're fast."

"Sounds good. On three, yeah?"

Kurt nodded, and then on three they moved simultaneously, slightly hunched to minimise their own shadows, and by some miracle they made it to the tree without being spotted. Kurt, his breathing slightly laboured through his mouth, turned towards Cunningham and shot him a quick, ecstatic grin which was returned enthusiastically by his partner.

With no fanfare, their shared moment discarded by the need to _move_ , Kurt nodded once and Cunningham moved immediately, leading the way through the tree-line towards the south, both of them now focussed on getting to the school as fast as possible to find out what the fuck was going on. Kurt chanced a glance through the trees towards the building when they passed it, noting with a fierce delight that the Infected were still shrieking and moaning at the building, as if they were still trapped on the roof.

After that, they simply moved. They bypassed a few Infected on the way back to the gym, quickly slipping into rapidly disappearing shadows or foliage in order to keep from being seen. Ultimately though, they made rapidly good time under Cunningham's lead, Kurt steady as his shadow, both of them clutching knives just in case. The grey of the dawn crept into their surroundings, making it a little easier to manoeuvre through the silent town, but the rain was ceaseless. It masked the sound of their footsteps as well as their heavy breathing, letting them move as fast as they could manage without falling in the damp grass and wet roads.

Then, as they moved past a house that was in sight of the gym, something jumped out and caught Cunningham by the throat.

The airman grunted as the two bodies fell to the grass, and Kurt didn't even think. He simply rushed forward, grabbed the Infected around its middle, and yanked back as hard as he could, his heart in his throat because he was _not_ going to watch Cunningham die here, not after everything they had been through in the past twenty-four hours.

The Infected fell backwards easily, causing Kurt to lose his footing and hit his head heavily on the ground. There was a sharp sting in his arm – through the adrenaline he registered that he had been bitten on the left forearm – but it was inconsequential because his right hand swung up and suddenly the Infected stopped moving, landing heavily on Kurt's legs and going still.

Shaking, his breaths coming out in short gasps, he realised that he had buried his knife within the skull of the thing.

"Shit, you—" he heard Cunningham say, but Kurt didn't care about himself.

He kicked his feet and got free, immediately scrambling to his knees so he could grab at Cunningham's arms wildly. "Are you hurt?" Kurt heard himself say, voice thin with fear, eyes taking in the dark skin and trying to see any blood being washed away by the rain, his hands following to feel if there was torn skin he couldn't see. "Please tell me he didn't get you, tell me you're—"

"I'm okay, I'm okay, it didn't get me," Cunningham said, his own tone breathless as he shrugged off Kurt's hands and took the counter-tenor's left arm instead. "Fuck, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine," Kurt replied, and he was distantly horrified that his voice cracked with a sob on the last word.

Cunningham started shaking his head back and forth, one of his hands covering the bite even though it immediately blood began welling in between his fingers. "No, there's a chunk missing out of your arm...I have to stop the bleeding. I have to stop it, hold on. Keep your eyes on the yard."

Despite his eyes being blurry with rain and tears, Kurt obeyed, heaving out occasional sobs as he heard Cunningham cut off a large portion of his shirt with his knife, tearing it into strips. He jammed a large wad of cloth into the hole in Kurt's forearm, causing Kurt to hiss and attempt to pull away, but Cunningham stayed steady, knotting the thick strips around Kurt's arm to try and keep the bandages in place.

"It's not going to hold for very long, and I'm not going to be able to stop it completely. We have to get back to the gym, where all the medical equipment is. I have QuikClot from my supplies that we can use, but we've gotta get there. Can you still run?"

Kurt sniffed with a stuttered inhale and nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Okay, okay, let's go. I'm right here and we're _so_ close, c'mon, let's go."

They stood up together, Kurt a bit shaky on his feet from the waning adrenaline and the sharp pain that was beginning to throb in his forearm, but they moved quickly, bypassing the front and making their way to the side door where they had originally exited from. It was clear the entire way so they moved as fast as they could, Kurt slipping twice on the grass but steadied by Cunningham's arms around his waist.

Finally, they collapsed on the concrete pad in front of the doors, Cunningham pressing a hand against the blood-soaked rags on Kurt's arm as the other reached towards Kurt, unzipping his backpack and searching blindly inside. He eventually pulled out the radio and turned the dial on with his teeth, immediately pushing the button and so he could say hoarsely, "It's Cunningham and Kurt. We're outside the doors, so for fuck's sake _let us in_!"

There was static for a long, terrifying moment, and then abruptly there was a female voice that replied, " _Give me a second, I'll be right there_."

Kurt let out a relieved groan, something inside his chest unclenching at the sound of life in the school, and he couldn't help but fall forwards, his forehead landing on Cunningham's collar bone. Cunningham wrapped his free arm around Kurt's shoulders, hugging him tightly as his other hand maintained its steady pressure on Kurt's bite, and he heard the man say quietly into Kurt's hair, "It's okay, we're safe, we're going to be okay."

There was a soft _click_ and the doors opened a crack, bumping into Cunningham's legs. The both of them scrambled upright, Kurt steadied by Cunningham's weight, and they slipped into the dim entryway of the school.

As Kurt's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the entryway, he looked towards their saviour and instantly knew that something was wrong.

It was Marissa, and she was covered in blood, old blood judging by the dryness of it, and she looked utterly exhausted. Cunningham was on top of it instantly, his voice carrying a twinge of panic when he asked, "What happened?"

She looked at Kurt with big eyes, and he _knew_.

"Where's my family?" Kurt demanded, his chest tight because _there was something wrong_ , and Marissa simply shook her head, reaching for his bleeding arm as if trying to avoid answering. He jerked it away from her, barely registering the flash of pain that radiated up his arm, and repeated, "Where is my _family_ , Marissa?"

"Let me look at y—" she started.

"No!" he shouted, too loudly. They all paused for a second, the echo of Kurt's yell bouncing off the walls in the hallway, and then (much more quietly) said, "Take me to my family and then you can treat me. I need to know. _Please_."

Marissa hesitated, and then beckoned them to follow her. As they walked briskly towards th entrance to the gym, she said, "When we got back to the school, we all hugged our families if we had 'em and then set up triage. We had a few injuries that we patched up, nothing too serious, and then we all hit the hay if we weren't on watch so we'd have energy if we needed to go get you guys. Anyway, right about when the storm hit, Alex came up to me and said that Dan, his dad, was hurt and I went to see what was wrong. There was already a bit of a commotion going on, a few people in Dan's face saying that he'd been bitten even though Dan was denying it. I took a look at it, and it might've been a bite, I dunno, maybe some scratches, or maybe he just got cut by something, but people were panicking and a fight broke out. I don't even know what happened, but someone had a gun and it went off, and suddenly everyone was shootin' in self-defence or whatever and when it all cleared there were five people shot. Three of 'em are dead now, one's on the fence, and the other was just a graze."

They stopped in front of the door to the gym and she said heavily, "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

His heart stopped, and then he rushed inside.

There was a large group of people in the corner of the room, most of them crying or whispering to each other, but all Kurt could see was his family, huddled in a corner around a tall, dark haired body that was still on the ground. Tears blurred his vision, cutting out the sight of Burt holding a weeping Carole, of Rachel hysterically screaming into her father's shirt, of Aunt Mildred shaking and pale on the fringes. The only thing he could see was Finn, gentle Finn, with his big heart and his goofy smile, laying there, covered in red and his throat torn out on one side from a gunshot wound, long fingers curled and eyes closed in death.

Kurt fell to his knees and gasped for air, trails of tears falling down his cheeks.

He could feel someone beside him, poking and prodding at his wound, someone else wrapping their arms around him and murmuring something in his hair, but he didn't care. He didn't. It didn't _matter_. Finn was _gone_ and it _hurt_ , oh god it hurt so _badly_ that he couldn't _breathe_. It felt like someone was ripping a piece of his soul out with sharp fingernails, no mercy and no respite, and Finn was _dead_ , he was really _dead_ , and how was Kurt supposed to function past this? How was _Carole_ going to function past this?

Kurt sobbed and he sobbed, until merciful blackness overcame him.

* * *

When he came to, the first thing that he could see was his dad's bloodshot eyes.

"Hey kiddo, welcome back," Burt said, gruff and wet, and Kurt surged up to hug his father as tightly as he could.

"Please tell me it was a bad dream," he whispered frantically, still dizzy from unconsciousness, and he felt Burt shudder in his arms. That was all the confirmation he needed, and despite his eyes already being sore and swollen, he felt himself cry again, dampening his dad's shirt quietly. "I'm so sorry," Kurt heard himself say, voice muffled against the cotton, "I should've been here, we should've left those people out there, because then he'd still _be_ here, and I'm so sorry Dad, I'm so sorry..."

"Hey, don't say that, Kurt," Burt said roughly. "You did an amazing thing out there and no one blames you for helping those people. It was our fault for letting a bunch of scared, untrained people walk freely around with guns."

Kurt pulled away, wiping his nose and face with his bandaged arm and hissing at the pain. He stared at the gauze, wondering when that had happened, and then he asked his dad without looking up, "How's Carole and Rachel?"

Burt sighed deeply, and sniffled a bit as if he was also crying. Eventually, he murmured, "Carole's distraught, understandably. She's sleeping right now at his...bedside, I guess. Couldn't get her to leave. Rachel though...she's locked herself in one of the science classrooms and we can't break the door down without attracting anything, so we're just letting her get her head around it. I was hoping that you two could figure it out together, if you don't fall down with another fever because of the bite."

Kurt felt strangely empty now that his tears had stopped, but he felt compelled to ask, "How long have I been out?"

Burt hummed quietly in the back of his throat and replied, "Maybe six hours? We haven't really been keeping track."

Kurt contemplated that distantly, and then said blankly, "I would've gotten the fever by now if I was going to. That first time was probably the only time I'll get sick."

Burt's large, calloused hands gently took Kurt's bandaged arm and stroked the gauze. "I'm glad," he breathed, sounding defeated. "I have never felt so...so...that was the worst experience in my life, Kurt, and I'm glad you never have to go through that again."

Kurt reached up and patted his dad once on the bicep, only to sharply inhale when Burt flinched at the touch. "What's wrong?" Kurt demanded, feeling his heart clench with raw panic.

Burt gave him a small, pained smile. "I got shot, kiddo." Kurt's heart thudded once, heavily, and Burt continued, "It hurts like nothin' else, but it was just a graze so I'll survive." Kurt bit his lip hard to smother the wail that threatened to explode out of his mouth, and he felt more tears pop into his eyes, hating the knowledge that he had almost lost his _dad_ too. He _couldn't_ lose his dad, he _wouldn't_ , and he wrapped his arms around Burt's middle, squeezing tightly and shuddering sporadically.

They stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other tightly like it would make everything okay again, and then he heard Burt mutter, "There's a young man outside who has been sleeping on the floor next to this room." Kurt opened his eyes and blinked a few times, for the first time registering that he was in a classroom, all the chairs and desks shoved against a wall to make room for Kurt's bedding. Burt went on, "He's been waiting for you to wake up, and I told him that I'd let him know when you were awake."

Kurt blinked again, eyelashes catching on Burt's shirt, and questioned quietly, "Cunningham?"

"Sure is," Burt answered. "He wouldn't leave, and I wasn't about to make him."

Kurt felt a small, fleeting smile pop onto his lips before he remembered he wasn't allowed to smile now that Finn was gone, and the smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. "I should talk to him, let him know I'm okay. He's okay too, right?"

Burt sighed. "He's fine. Marissa checked him over after she finished patching you up. Do you want me to go get him?"

Kurt swallowed thickly. "I should go see Carole first, talk to Rachel...see Finn."

"That can wait," Burt said heavily. "I'll go to Carole, and Rachel's fine for the time being, and – and Finn, well he isn't going anywhere, Kurt."

Kurt flinched, but nodded against his father's chest. "Okay," he whispered.

They held each other for another long moment before Burt pulled away, gingerly getting to his feet. Kurt glanced up at him, and Burt managed a wry smile that looked wrong with his anguished eyes. "No funny business with him, you hear me?"

Kurt gave him a tight, unamused smile. "Funny Dad," he said, but there wasn't any ire in it. There wasn't _anything_ in it. Just a son and a father, trying to kid themselves into thinking that everything was going to go back to normal with a few jokes, when nothing would be the same again with Finn gone.

Burt's expression was indescribable, something heavy with grief and pain and a thousand other things, and then he turned away, walking out of Kurt's room and speaking quietly with Cunningham, who was on the floor judging by Burt's gaze.

The man himself finally shuffled in, dark eyes cautious even as they scanned Kurt's body for signs of distress, and then he said in his deep voice, "I don't know why, but something inside me was convinced that you were going to change into one of those things regardless of all your tales of immunity." He paused, taking a seat beside Kurt's bedding, and then added, "I'm glad I'm wrong."

Kurt exhaled quietly, and said, "Yeah. At least I didn't get sick again. I guess my body decided that once was enough."

Cunningham huffed in what might've been laughter but was more likely exasperation. Then his expression darkened, and he said softly, "My wife was bitten trying to protect our daughter from the dead ones. We got cornered, trying to get to Ashland City to find her brother, and it didn't matter that she was trying to protect Chloe, because they had already gotten to her too. I couldn't even do anything but watch, because I knew they were gone and our second daughter had to be my priority."

He broke off for a moment, then continued shakily, "I shot them both myself, right in the head, because it was the right thing to do. Emptied the clip doing it. Stupidest thing I've ever done, because I didn't have anything else but a knife after that to defend my daughter and me. We took off, left my wife and my baby girl to rot in some backwater town in Tennessee, and I had to carry Angie because she wouldn't stop screaming. She was six and she watched her mother and sister get eaten and then shot by her daddy and I couldn't blame her, still don't. But she wouldn't _stop_. I knew we couldn't go hole up somewhere because we'd never get out since she was screaming so loud, so I just kept running, this horde behind me and a screaming girl in my arms, and I was so _tired_. I hadn't slept for days and we were running on no fuel, and I slowed down, Kurt, I slowed down and I couldn't help it, my body just couldn't run that fast any more with Angie's weight."

He choked off, eyes hard as he stared out a window, fingers twitching in his lap as he wrestled with inner demons. Kurt hesitated for only a second and then reached out, grasping Cunningham's hands with his own tightly, trying to show the man that Kurt was there. It seemed to jolt the airman back into awareness, for he went on slowly, "I slowed down enough that they got to us, and they bit into her leg. I'll never forgive myself for being weak enough to not push through the exhaustion, to get my only remaining daughter to safety. I'll never be able to forgive myself for that, for as long as I live."

Cunningham's brown eyes finally turned back to Kurt, his handsome face crumpled in sorrow, and he said, "I don't know how I managed it but I got us both out. Killed a few of them to do it but I made it to this school and they let us in. It didn't matter then, though, just like it hadn't mattered with Chloe and Denise. She was still bitten, and she still died here, and I still put her down myself after she had changed."

He trailed off, squeezing Kurt's hands as his eyes glistened with heartbreaking memories, and he finally finished, "I know how you feel. I know how it feels to lose your family to something that you should've been able to prevent, because it's your _job_ to take care of your family. I know what it feels like to feel like you've _failed_. Trust me, Kurt, I _know_. You're never going to be able to stop asking yourself 'what if', just like I won't be able to. But what I _do_ know is that you saved my life out there, and you've saved all of the lives in here with your supply run, and I swear to God, I will do everything I can to make sure that you never have to shoulder this by yourself. You have my word that I will do everything in my power to protect you and your family from whatever is out there, because I owe you my life and I'll carry that debt until the day I die."

Kurt was silently weeping at the end of it, and he pulled Cunningham into a tight, unapologetic hug by the end. "You don't owe me anything," he managed to force out past his tears. "You would do the same for me so you don't owe me anything."

Cunningham laughed wetly and shot back, "Shut the fuck up kid. I've got your back and you're just going to have to deal with it."

For the first time since seeing Finn's body in the gym, Kurt smiled, just a tiny one, and _meant it_.

* * *

Finn was so pale against the grey of his bedding.

He was covered now up to his chin, hiding the wound that had taken his life, so it was easy to imagine that he was only sleeping. For a wild moment, Kurt almost expected him to jolt awake, yelling ' _Surprise!_ ' with a shit-eating grin on his face, but it passed, and Kurt clenched his fists to keep from crying _again_. He couldn't break down in front of Carole, who was staring blankly at her dead child with no light in her eyes.

He only stayed a moment longer before he turned away, pressing a soft kiss to Carole's hair and giving Burt a quick hug, before he went to find Rachel. He wandered through the hallways, retracing the steps that he had taken before, when he had been so happy that his cast was off, his brother and surrogate sister at his side. It seemed like so long ago, an age, and he wished he could turn back time just so he could tell Finn that he loved him so, _so_ much, that he was _so_ brave for trying to break up a dangerous situation even if it had cost him his life.

But he couldn't, so he focussed his mind on helping Rachel through her grief.

When he reached the science classroom that had been _theirs_ , he knocked lightly on the door and called out softly, "Rachel? It's me, Kurt. Can you open up? I need someone to cry with and I don't want to be by myself."

He heard nothing but silence for a long time, and he had just decided to sit on the floor by the door until she responded, small noises of movement registering until the door unlocked and her swollen face appeared in the crack.

They stared at each other for a while without speaking a word, Kurt taking in her bloodshot eyes and bruised cheekbone (a memento from the fight where she had been hit in the fervour), before he stepped forward and let her fall to pieces in his arms. She wept and she shuddered, collapsing under the strain of her sorrow, causing both of them to fall to the hard linoleum floor unceremoniously. Kurt shut the door with an awkward foot, already breaking down with her, wrenching sobs tearing from his own throat to entwine with hers. The sound was loud, too loud, but neither of them cared, even when Infected began banging increasingly on the boarded-up windows. They simply held each other to keep their breaking hearts from shattering completely, taking a small, almost insignificant comfort that they were together in their shared anguish.

"I don't understand!" she cried against his damp shirt, fingernails digging into his chest. "Why did _he_ have to die? I lost a dad and now I've lost my soulmate, and I don't want to live in a world where I have to watch the people I love die! I've lost my Fiyero, Kurt, and this world is dead, and I can't watch anyone else die because I'm not strong enough! I can't _do_ this!"

"Don't, please don't..." Kurt managed, his air choked with panic and torment. "Please don't say that. He wouldn't want you to—"

"He's _dead_ Kurt!" she screamed at him, face red and eyes delirious. "You don't know _what_ he'd want!"

He didn't know what to say to that, and he was scared to speak in fear he might throw up. His stomach rolled with nausea, his heart beating fast (too fast, he felt so _dizzy_ ) and heavy in his tight chest, and he didn't know what to _say_ to make her understand. He understood where she was coming from too, because there was so much suffering in this world – monsters were real and consuming the living, and the living themselves were hiding away, waiting for some mercy that would likely never materialise as they wasted away and jumped at every movement and sound. He _understood_ , because this world was broken and terrifying and they could do nothing but shoulder the torture and pain and grief without hope for a better future.

But he couldn't watch her waste away, because Kurt needed her more than ever, and her remaining father needed her, and he wasn't going to let her disappear from him because there _had_ to be something _good_ out there, and family was worth fighting for, worth _surviving_ for in this cruel new world.

"I can't live without you, Rachel," he told her, voice shaky with emotion. "I'm trying so hard to keep everyone safe, for myself and for Finn, because he died trying to protect people and I'm going to honour that memory. He would want me to protect you, more than anything, because his big goofy heart would want nothing less than that. He loved you Rachel, so much, and I think it would destroy him if you gave up, because he gave his life trying to keep you and our family alive. Please, Rachel, don't tarnish his memory like this...he wouldn't want it. You're my best friend, my _sister_ , and we have to be strong for him so he can rest in peace knowing that he didn't die for nothing. You _know_ that, Rachel, I know you do."

She didn't respond with words; instead, she simply fell forward again and nodded over and over against against his chest, weeping so hard she was very nearly hyperventilating.

Something in his chest eased just a tad at her reluctant agreement, and he prayed to a god he didn't believe in that she would find the strength to continue on.

* * *

Four hours later, bringing dinner, he found her dead, wrists open and blood covering the floor.

Hiram followed in the same manner, though they didn't find his body for two days.


End file.
